


Crossing China

by asparagusmama



Series: Meddling with Time [2]
Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Doctor Who: Virgin New Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Alternative Earth, Classic Era 21st century future history, Climate Change, M/M, Parallel Earth, Parallel Universes, Post Salamander fall out, Post-Brexit, Secret under mountain base, Seven does his temporal hopping thing, Telepathy, Two Doctors finally together, UNIT, Undercover TARDIS team VNA, Virgin New Adventures 21st century future history, a multiverse temporal embolism, a rat companion, alternative universe, combined with reality, improper use of the chameleon arch, please check trigger warnings in each chapter, pocket universe, post-Trump, references to Salamander and Enemy of the World, research beginnings of T-Mat (Amazon) from The Seeds of Death, soft toy companion, the Doctor sings flat very badly, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-03-28 11:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13902693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: Earth, the 2020s...Britain, October 2022. The Doctor brings Ace back home to Southall, a few miles from Perivale, known for decades as unofficial little India of the south of Britain, a multicultural hodge podge of mostly Indians, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, along with indigenous whites, Irish, East Europeans, Africans, Asians. A very poster borough of a working multicultural community.  They have come for Diwali, Ace remembered fond memories as a child, coming over with her primary school when little, and with Manesha and her family as an older child. She remembers the fireworks, the dancing, the parades, the lights, the food...China, November 2023, The Doctor arrives in Beijing, after travelling across Europe, Russia and Siberia and Mongolia, in desperate need to find and rescue his TARDIS and his companion. Marked by the Chinese as the lowest of the low, drugged and abandoned in a refugee camp of British and Icelandic peoples, the Doctor has had a hell of a few weeks. In a world with the environment devastated by unprecedented natural disasters and nuclear holocausts, flying is an impossibility, and if feels as it he has been travelling for so long...





	1. Prologue: Southall, October 2022, Diwali

**Author's Note:**

> Will the Doctor make it? Will he ever recover or trust humans again? More importantly will Ace get the Doctor to rescue people from fascism and take her theories of time meddling seriously or will he just focus on his own personal future’s safety? Or are they connected? Is he really his future at all, or from another universe? Or is this chilling dystopia just meant to be? Both Doctors swear not, from two different universes. But what if this is neither of theirs, and they are both displaced? If so, will Ace get a Doctor to help her defeat the fascism and end the suffering and death?  
> This fic is a dystopian alternative near future, and contains references and descriptions of environmental devastation, war, terrorism, death, grief, migration and refugees, people trafficking, prostitution, rape and dub-con, drug use and violence and hunger. Also characters express racist, xenophobic, Islamophobic, homophobic and sexist views or describe being victims of such hate and use offensive language. Each chapter will contain appropriate trigger-warnings in the endnotes of the chapter. Please check each chapter with endnotes if any of the above could trigger you.  
> Every time the Doctor remembers a companion; friend or lover, the ship is tagged so no one gets offended. I hope in doing so I don’t disappoint anyone. If a companion or other person is tagged in characters, they will appear.

“You’ll love it,” Ace said to Benny as she opened the door of the TARDIS, grabbing her bag and jacket from the hatstand and heading for the doorway and the outside.

The Doctor smiled indulgently, and flipped his hat on his head straight from the hatstand. “Certainly, you’ll love the food,” he agreed, and bounced after her.

Benny slipped on her trench coat she had treated herself to in Berlin and followed them. She found them standing stock still a few metres away. The street was dark, the shops boarded up, some smashed up, a few units actually burnt out skeletons. The sky above them was greasy and dusty, smelling of sulphur and pumice ash, the stars completely hidden by the black and grey clouds.

“What happened?” Ace whispered.

The Doctor, holding his hat in one hand, his head with the other, rubbing at his temple as if it pained him, stumbled out, “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”

Bernice looked at the two of them, worried, and then put her arm across both of her friends’ shoulders and squeezed. “How about we look around and see what happened.”

Just then a bus trundled its way down Southall’s Broadway, but it didn’t stop at the stop. On the side was an old, peeling, banner, instead of the usual advert, saying in bold red comic sans, ‘See it. Say it. Sorted. Gov.uk.’ There was a picture of a miserable looking older woman with a grey bob and pearl earrings looking sternly out beside it.

“What did you notice?” the Doctor asked Ace hurriedly.

“Poster’s a bit sinister.”

“And?”

“And there are no street lights.”

“And?”

“And the shops are shut and bombed out or smashed up, or some, at least, and there are no people around.”

“And?”

“And the houses behind, back there, there are no lights either. Empty I bet.”

“And?”

Ace turned to the Doctor, horrified, “All the people on the bus were white. All of them. How come? That bus was going to Ealing Professor. Ealing! Through Southall and Perivale. That’s my old bus number; it’s the same. Futuristic bus; but the same old route. But not a black or Asian person, none at all.”

Benny had wandered down the street. “All these shops, they were Indian, right? Clothes, food, everything. Little India, you said Ace.” Benny, historian and archaeologist, pointed in shock at the shop fronts

“Right?” Ace came up behind her and looked at what Benny was pointing at, the red spray-painted swastikas and the phrase ‘pakis out’ over every shop front. 

“Fascists! Fascist scumbags! Bastards!” Ace yelled, kicking out at a broken door, screaming incoherently in anger, before she picked up a bit of broken wood, perhaps once a table or chair leg, from the ground in front of the shop, and starting smashing at the boarding and the vile red painted messages of hate. She turned round, dropping the wood dejectedly. “What’s happened Professor? Why’da bring me here? Why tell me we were coming for Diwali?” she yelled in anguish.

“We were Ace...” the Doctor’s voice was distanced, pained.

“This isn’t right,” Benny said, touching Ace’s shoulder to try to calm the younger woman. “This belongs in 1930s Germany, not 2020s UK. I promise you. This is wrong. Someone is messing with Earth’s timelines again. Right Doctor?”

“Tell me you can sort this!” Ace roared. “This is my people! You can’t let the racist scum win! You can’t! You sort this now!” She turned to look at him and saw he was still in pain.

“Data. I need more data,” he whispered through the agony. “We need to find out where time diverges first. But for all I know, we’re in another universe. We need another country for comparison, and I need to run some checks on the TARDIS. Let’s get out of here. It doesn’t feel safe...”

As they turned to walk back to the TARDIS a police car came speeding down the road, aiming straight for them. The Doctor glanced up and saw the CCTV camera on the unlit lamppost above them. He grabbed both companions hands and yelled,

“Run!”

 

*

 

Five short hops later, the Doctor had left Bernice in the Institute of Western Studies Library in Shanghai, Ace in Toronto surfing the net for old news stories, and he had just arrived in Beijing Main Station having just left Paris, having had the strangest sensation of someone walking over his grave, watching a shivering young man dressed in a pin-striped brown suit and spiked up dark hair, a prostitute, stumble along the banks of the Seine in the cold rain and sleet. There had been something terrifyingly familiar about him. He began to doubt his instincts and think they had slipped sideways through the Void and were on some other Earth, despite all the evidence of the TARDIS databanks and logs.

The sad young man was still on his mind when he set the coordinates again and leant heavily on the telepathic circuits to see if together they could figure out what was happening to his favourite country on his favourite planet, following the information on recent European history he had gained in Paris. News reports scrolled down on the monitor screen as he did so, and he scanned them quickly, barely noticing the information he took in as he sped-read. Five minutes later he found himself almost a month later in a train station in Beijing. He flipped on his hat, grabbed his umbrella for security, and strode out of the TARDIS and wandered around. Some people looked at him curiously, but in a world that didn’t fly in vast areas, white people were arriving here on trains so he wasn’t such an oddity. He watched the huge, long, Trans Siberian Express, which had just pulled in and people were disembarking after an eight-day journey from Moscow. The engines that pulled it were glorious and powerful, and the Doctor was admiring the new, fast, Chinese, technology, as what looked to be the same young man rushed past him. The temporal and dimensional displacement and artron energy hit him like a punch and the Doctor followed the man, the Time Lord. He was now dressed in a green thick jersey and black jeans covered by long black coat, which flapped out behind him, and he was carrying a small weekend bag. The Doctor followed him to the Gents.

He had locked himself in the cubicle and was muttering to himself in Gallifreyan. The Doctor moved nearer, pretending to wash his hands every time a human came in, and listened.

“Not again!” Sounds of vomiting. “What is wrong with me?” A swallowed sob. “Is it in my head? Am I disgusted with myself!” More vomiting. The sounds of rustling through the bag. “Oh Fizzy. Fizzy Fizzy Fizzy. Fizzalundra. I wish you were real. I’m here. I’m finally here! But I forgot how big China is. Sichuan Province is thousands of miles away. How will I get across the country and how will I get into Base 27? I need...” more sobs. Deep, hearts breaking, sobs.

The Doctor took a step closer to the cubicle while the entire bathroom was empty, half afraid, and gently Reached.

He stepped back, terrified, clutching his lapels and his brolly, hugging it and himself. A gasp of shock and horror escaped his mouth.

“Is someone there?” called the Doctor, the other Doctor, the future Doctor, the just recently been multiple raped Doctor, the alone, so far from home, lost from his TARDIS, Doctor...

The Doctor rushed out of the public toilets and hurried back to the TARDIS. Time was awry. One of them was in the wrong universe. That was not him. It couldn’t be. It was his artron energy with a plus, a plus that meant it couldn’t be. And such trauma, not the rapes, but a war. The War. The Time War.

Had he gone mad? Was he playing with Time?

Or was he an innocent victim?

He needed more information.

 

*

 

Fuck. It hurt. It hurt more than the Doctor could ever imagine.

But he wasn’t the Doctor now, just a vessel, a human who carried his mind with information to collect. He dressed in the wardrobe room, ordinary human clothes, and practiced an Australian accent, before he returned to the public bathroom.

Good, the Doctor was still in the cubicle. The door opened and he busied himself washing his hands again. He looked at this future, different, Doctor, as he washed his hands and rinsed out his mouth. He was tall, and impossibly skinny. His hands shook in a very unDoctory way, his soft brown hair now flopped over his face. It had been gelled up in Paris. He looked at his reflection, and splashed water on in, before rummaging in his pockets and fishing out eyeliner and mascara.

“No,” he said to himself, then shuddered violently.

“Are you okay mate?” the now human Doctor said in a passable Australian accent.

The future Doctor looked at him without a trace of recognition. Good. He had thought the fake beard was a bit too much, but now, even without the artron signature and familiar aura, he would recognise a face he had once shaved every day. It was why he’d swept and gelled his hair off his face and put on a little fake goatee as well as used the chameleon arch to change his physical aura to human, even if he’d kept himself intact. He looked more like an incarnation of the Master, he supposed, with the hair and beard. All for sleight of hand and distraction.

His possible future looked down on him and tugged at his sleeves, hiding a tattoo of a black rose. He narrowed his eyes. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“I heard you be sick, and you look like you need a friend. Can I buy you a cup of tea?”

The skinny future Doctor looked down at his shaking hands and tried to smile, “Why not? I do need a friend. A tiny bit. As long you’re not talking to me because of the tattoo. I’m not working any more, okay?”

“What tattoo? Working at what?” the now human Doctor asked. He was horrified by his future self’s answer.

 

*

“It’s this toad face! Look at him,” Ace starting speaking as soon as she came into the TARDIS. “I bet he’s the Monk, Mortimus, look at him!” Ace said, waving sheet after sheet of newsprints. “He turns a crack pot party into a real one, changes the agenda and the politics to such a point they had a referendum that no one knew what to do with, so the fascists took over the ideas. Slowly, subtly, like, here and the States. Brain washing people with downright lies. It’s all here Professor! Crukking frog face monster. Look at him. Mates with the US president now, and he’s an imbecile, totally gaga - twisting people, making them not see the evil...”

“Yes yes Ace,” the Doctor agreed. “We will investigate, but right now, while Benny does a little more research for us, we have a Time Lord to track and watch.”

“Mortimus. Meddling fragging Monk. Yeah, I said.”

“What?” the Doctor looked up from the console. He looked a bit pale.

“Are you alright Professor?”

The Doctor put his arm around Ace and pulled her into a hug, pressing his forehead to hers. “No Ace. I’ve just seen my future. My personal future. Or at least, a possible one. And it’s not pretty.”

 

*

Ace watched from the monitor as the Doctor left the TARDIS and walked down the small, dark, gloomy side street of the small Chinese town at the foot of the mountains. The pretty one came walking out of the shadows, looking afraid and furtive.

*

“You need to me research what now?” Bernice asked, surprised, at the teahouse opposite the library. She watched Ace tuck into noodle soup. Ace was in her armour, and gave the impression she had been gone for days, not the hours she had been in Shanghai.

“The Chinese Space Industry and its plans. The global space race. Something called ANZAC SEP– the Australia, New Zealand, and China Science Exchange Program. I need us to be members, I’m taking you to Canberra, you’ll need to sort out entire fake academic and government credentials for us – xeno medicine and psychology.”

“Okay. But how does this relate to the UK and US dissolving into bankrupt failed states with fascist ideals? Or Iceland disappearing in a natural disaster of unbelievable size?”

“It doesn’t. It may do. I have to establish we are in the right universe, and certain things – and people – have led me to doubt the information from the TARDIS alone,” the Doctor explained. “But first things, first. We need to sort out fake IDs and book a suite into the best hotel in town.”

“Then?” Ace asked.

“Then we are going to Russia Ace. Naturally.”

“Oh. Of course we are.”


	2. Beijing, November 22nd 2023

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings below

TJ woke the Doctor for the last time with a cup of tea. By now he didn’t bother with the knocking. For the last week he had found the Doctor great company, one of the best travelling companions he could have asked for on the tedious journey across Siberia and Mongolia he had do several times a year. The Trans-Siberian Express was a good train, one of the better journeys, certainly, but he couldn’t wait now to get out of the ash zone and a plane home to Botswana, micro-particles permitting. He found the Doctor was tangled in his sheets and drenched in a cold sweat, his hair standing in messy clumps, and the battered toy rabbit was clutched tightly to his chest. TJ was not in the least surprised. He could easily guess some of what the Doctor had been through as he had travelled through Europe and Russia with the Eurozone prostitution tattoo and microchip implanted without his consent while he had been drugged. He could hear the Doctor cry out often through the night. But he never said anything, he guessed the Doctor had been to hell and back on his journey to get this far and really didn’t think the Doctor wanted to talk.

“Wakey wakey Doctor,” he said with a smile. He was going to miss the Doctor, miss the fact that someone understood his interstitial research. Although being an alien helped. At least he knew he wasn’t journeying up a dead end with his research, and even if he didn’t achieve matter transportation, someone would one day, with his groundwork.

“Wha... what?”

TJ smiled broadly. “We’re in China. Six hours from Beijing.”

The Doctor struggled to sit up, saw it was obvious he had been cuddling a child’s toy and blushed, shoving the rabbit out of sight. He accepted the rooibos tea. “What time is it?” he asked, before sipping at his tea.

“Just gone nine o’clock.”

“What?”

“I let you sleep. I thought you needed it.” TJ sat down on the sofa. “Can I buy you a late breakfast on the Russian dining car? It’s all Chinese cuisine from now on. Well, for you.” TJ smiled widely. “”For me, if the flight goes, it’s pre-packed plastic airline food but tomorrow, oh yes, tomorrow, it’ll be my wife’s cooking. Uh huh! I tell you, she cooks like an Angel!”

The Doctor grinned at the oft-made pun. TJ’s wife’s name was Angel. He curled up his knees and leant back into his pillows and drank his tea, marvelling at, although, to sleep over ten hours was very unlike him, he didn’t need to go to the bathroom, that the constant pressure on his bladder and lower back pain seemed to have finally left him, two days after he had finished the Rani’s medication. He’d had a rough night in other ways, full of nightmares and flashbacks. Perhaps the Rani should have given him a two-week course of the antidepressant/sedative medications? His bruises had healed, inside and out, and he seemed to be pain free everywhere, even the abdominal and more personal interior pain had finally gone. Inside, however, he was not so sure. The Rani, in her cold and efficient way, had seemed genuinely horrified at his being raped, even if her sympathy didn’t extend to the humans whose brain chemicals she had stolen, nor those who had been hurt by the sleepless men. At least she had left Poland now, and the town was safe. Or safer at least. There was already so much hunger, so much unemployment, refugee camps and homelessness, poverty and suffering, in Europe, he had no idea what the latest eruptions and earthquakes in Hungary would do to the Eurozone economy. Last time, he had left Earth with not so much as a backwards thought. How young and self-righteous he had been back then.

He watched his hand on the tea glass. Alas, he was still shaking. He grinned at TJ again, handing him the tea glass. “No. Let’s go to the Chinese one. I don’t know what the Chinese eat for breakfast these days. Is that awful of me? It is a tiny bit, isn’t it? We’ll have one last Russian lunch.” He tipped his head and smiled rather flirtatiously at TJ, twinkling his eyes and fluttering his eyelashes, who as always, ignored it. He was lying, anyway, he loved Dim Sum, and every morning in the TARDIS, Yu made himself congee.

“You want to eat two good meals in less that five hours?”

“Ooh, yeah. Yes I do. I have no idea when I’ll next eat. I mean... if that’s not too presumptuous of me?”

TJ bounced to his feet, smiling. “I’ll leave you to dress. Meet you in ten?”

 

*

 

Six hours later TJ handed the Doctor his bag he had insisted on carrying to the Immigration and Customs line, hugging him tightly before heading straight for those exits with valid business visas and Chinese citizens. Every non-yellow human in the queue was black or brown skinned.

The Doctor stood, bewildered, at the vast, modern, station, the busy but very organised bustle of the people, and felt momentarily frozen. He had become used to the quiet and the routine of the journey, where he could forget all that had happened to him in Europe, all the fear of what might be happening and had very likely happened to Yu, and the worry about how he would get to Base 27. He had to get to Xichang, he knew, and there was a Space Port at Xichang, on the plains, but the base was secret and supposedly in the mountains. 

He watched TJ’s retreating back, watching him sail though the border and be met by two businessmen and a businesswoman, watched him bow and shake hands and walk away, pulling his suitcase behind him, his laptop containing the future of human matter transit swinging in its case on his shoulder. There went the last contact he had. He was white, with a EuroCombine ‘tramp stamp’ and a translation matrix which often gave him a British accent, whichever language he spoke, and he didn’t know what this other Doctor’s TARDIS was doing for him.

Eventually, he shouldered his bag, sighing deeply, and made his way to the foreigner queue. When he got there, the young woman officer was surprised.

“But you have Chinese citizenship, Dr. Smith?” she said gently.

“Oh. Yes. Silly me.”

“Have you come far?”

“From the New Jungle. Calais. France. It’s been a long journey.”

“How do you have...?”

The Doctor bit his lip. He was sometimes a Doctor of no brain at all! Now he was in trouble. “I was offered a job by the China Aerospace Industry Corporation. I used to work for ESA before... before...”

“Paperwork?”

“I was mugged. I managed to stop them getting the passport, but... I have this,” he said, inspired, handing her the ticket. She took it without another word and scanned it and its barcode into the tablet she had and then tapped out a few commands. He crossed his fingers. Don’t let me down Doctor, he thought.

“Yes. All in order. The ticket was purchased by the CAIC subsidiary IMC. Welcome to China Dr. Smith. May you have a productive and enjoyable career and find peace after the pain you have been through. You will be going on to Shanghai?”

“Yes. But I thought I would have a look at your beautiful city first.” The Doctor grinned. He was going to Xichang, but no point arousing suspicions when he’d just deflected them.

He walked though the barrier and into China proper. He looked up again at the Main Station’s beautiful ceiling and span in a slow circle, taking it all it and marvelled at the fact that he was at least in the same country as his TARDIS and Yu.

Even if he had no idea how he would rescue either of them.

Suddenly he had to stop spinning and looking up, as first a wave of vertigo then nausea hit him, causing him to stumble and put his hand to his mouth. As soon as he was reasonably sure he was able to move without staggering and tripping up, he rushed on, eyes scanning desperately for a public bathroom.

He just made it before he threw up. He sank to his knees and violently emptied his stomach. This was all he needed. He had thought that very morning he was on the mend. 

He sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The feeling of bile rushing and the churning in his stomach began again.

“Not again!” he wailed unhappily. Before throwing up more. He sank to sitting on his thigh, squashed up in the cubicle, pulling the long black coat under his black jeans covering his legs. 

“What is wrong with me?” he asked himself again with a swallowed sob. “Is it in my head? Am I disgusted with myself!” He threw up yet again.

When he was sure he wasn’t going to be sick for a while at least he pulled his bag on his lap and rummaged in it for the toy rabbit, and pulled her out and hugged her tightly. “Oh Fizzy. Fizzy Fizzy Fizzy. Fizzalundra. I wish you were real. I’m here. I’m finally here! But I forgot how big China is. Sichuan Province is thousands of miles away. How will I get across the country and how will I get into Base 27? I need...” He tailed off, unable to keep back the tears anymore, and broke down into body-racking sobs. 

The Trans-Siberian had been a little bubble, a chance to regroup and make plans. Instead he had chosen to run away and not work out a single plan. There were some situations that even the Doctor hesitated in walking in alone, unarmed, to attempt to make a rescue of his TARDIS and companion. A Dalek base. A Cyber-ship. A Nazi prisoner of war castle. A Time Lord CIA secret space station. A Chinese twenty-first century military and space secret base.

But who could blame him for running away. Thinking hurt, as if he thought on Yu’s situation, he went back to his own, and the flashbacks began...

The Doctor squeezed his eyes tight closed and hugged Fizzallundra even more closely as he was hit by a vivid wave of flashbacks to being raped in Poland, which was followed by the memories of what had happened in the brothel in Berlin.

Stop stop stop he mentally shouted at his own vivid, photographic, recall.

Something brushed his mind. 

He was sure someone brushed his mind!

Then he heard someone gasp outside his cubicle.

“Is someone there?” the Doctor called out.

He heard nothing but fast retreating footsteps, but he soon paid it no more attention as another wave of violent nausea struck and he began to vomit more.

Maybe he had over-eaten? Steamed buns and dumplings followed by lunch three hours later by a huge plateful of potato and vegetable salad with eggs and borsch to follow all washed down with probably litres of green or black tea.

He vomited until nothing was left.

“Carrots!” he muttered. “Always bloody carrots!”

He retched again, but there was nothing left.

He sat there, crushed and crowded, on the floor next to the toilet bowl, for another good twenty minutes or so; just to make sure he wasn’t going to be sick yet again.

When he came out the only other man in the public toilet was another white man, a non-descript short person in a generic if rather scruffy dark blue business suit and red tie, a small beard and hair greased back in an old-fashioned style. He was washing his hands. The Doctor had no choice but to stand next to him at the basin. He washed his own hands and then began to rinse out his nasty tasting mouth. Then he looked into the mirror and pulled a few faces. He looked so pale and wan, drawn out and ill, even though he was free finally of all bruises and cuts. He began to rummage in the coat pockets and his bag, thinking that make-up might make him look less ill. He muttered to himself as he looked for mascara and eyeliner, at least, to draw attention from the pale skin and bags under the eyes, to say nothing at the unhappy, abused, terrified, creature that stared back at him from the mirror.

“No,” he said to himself eventually. What was the point? Besides, male humans didn’t really go for make-up much in this era. Apart from maybe a few. But that seemed to give off the wrong signals. He was tired of being treated like a plaything of male human predatorial sexuality. It was true, in this incarnation (and the last, as it looked the same!) he had been assaulted and groped a few times by women too, but that had seemed far less threatening and damaging to the soul, despite how uncomfortable he had felt at the time. Particularly when Cassandra had possessed Rose! He shuddered violently at the memory.

“Are you okay mate?” the short man asked in an Australian accent.

The Doctor looked down at the man, startled, and, with what was now an automatic Pavlovian response, tugged at his sleeves, hiding the tattoo of a black rose. He narrowed his eyes. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“I heard you be sick, and you look like you need a friend. Can I buy you a cup of tea?” the man said, smiling hopefully.

The Doctor looked down at his shaking hands and tried to smile, as this man didn’t seem to be transmitting any sexual desire, but rather kindness and compassion. He felt instinctively this was a man to trust. “Why not? I do need a friend. A tiny bit. As long you’re not talking to me because of the tattoo. I’m not working any more, okay?” he added, to be clear and safe.

“What tattoo? Working at what?” the man asked. 

“Do you not know about it? I suppose it is a EuroZone thing. It’s a tattoo over a chip – it’s for an app. It means I’m... I was... I was forced into.... that is. It’s a prostitution thing, okay? In Europe they tattoo and chip you. It’s supposed to prevent people trafficking. But lots of people – including me – get chipped and tattooed when drugged or when kidnapped or trafficked. Plenty of corruption out there.”

The Australian looked horrified, taking a step back. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered out, “I’m so sorry...” he repeated, sounding momentarily more Scottish that Australian. Perhaps he emigrated when young? Who would want to sound British in this world?

“I’m out of Europe now,” the Doctor grinned, “and would love a cup of tea.”

The human smiled up at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a strangely familiar way. “Come on then, and you can chat if you want to, otherwise, we can just watch the people walk by. I love train stations, full of excitement and activity, plus the trains, all that power and might in those engines, pulling all those carriages. Not like bus stations. Can’t abide bus stations. Full of lost souls and lost luggage. Train stations are much more upbeat, don’t you find? Did you know there are more maglevs in China that anywhere else in the world? Gotta love a maglev, they literally float!” his Australian accent was back.

The Doctor smiled back. “Yeah, but you can’t beat steam engines.”

“True” the human grinned back, before gesturing, “Shall we go?”

*

 

The Doctor sat quietly sipping his tea. They had come up a level and were on a balcony, watching the trains arrive and leave, the people below looked so small. The kind human let him be, didn’t ask many questions, just made comments about engines or invented stories for groups of people. It kept the Doctor distracted and entertained. He had introduced himself as Dr. Bernard Summerfield, a surgeon here in Beijing. The Doctor was sure he had heard the name recently, or at least, something like it, but with over seven billion humans, they would share names.

Suddenly, as the Doctor poured himself a third cup of green tea, Bernard spoke, looking him directly in the eye. “You’ve got your colour back, at least.” He picked up his hand, it felt so warm, humans always felt so warm, so comforting. “But you are unnaturally cold, Doctor.” He slipped his fingers around his wrist and took his double pulse. “Aah. Now that too is not human. Please do tell me, how on Earth did you end up in Europe, alone, chipped and tattooed, like some human illegal alien, as in foreign migrant. Because you are not human, are you?”

The Doctor pulled his hand away and tipped his chair back, hugging himself. “Why, what are you going to do?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Bernard smiled a broken, snaggle-toothed, smile. “Unless I can help Doctor, in which case, I’ll do that.”

The Doctor stared, panicked.

Bernard smiled again and poured himself another cup of his lapsang souchong, looking away from the Doctor, watching the people and trains again. “You can trust me,” he said. “I’m a doctor, I want to help people.” He grinned again at the Doctor. “I may not be the Doctor, but I’m still a doctor. I save lives and try to do no harm. I try to be kind.”

“Okay. I am not human,” the Doctor replied quietly.

“How did you end up in Europe with that... that thing!” Bernard spat out in disgust, pointing to the Doctor’s left wrist. “Did you end up the same way as other displaced people? Were you running away from a war?”

The Doctor laughed, a little hysterically, and then, when he calmed down, said, “No, whatever put that in your head?”

Bernard shrugged. “I don’t know. Too much science fiction books maybe. I’m an avid reader, I assure you.”

“No. No, it was my own stupidity. I was bringing my companion home. A human friend. I found him in the Andromeda galaxy,” the Doctor replied honestly.

“But that’s... that must be unimaginable light years away. How?” Bernard’s voiced raised a little in surprise or shock.

“Did you hear of Shenzhou 19, the Divine Farscape slingshot sub-light speed programme?”

Bernard looked about him and dropped his voice, “A little, but it vanished, blown up I guess. No one is supposed to acknowledge it.”

“Well, it fell down a wormhole.”

“Ah, of course... I mean! Wow! They really exist? Like in Star Trek?”

The Doctor looked at Bernard thoughtfully, before asking, “Do you work for UNIT at all Dr. Summerfield? Or Torchwood maybe?”

“Torchwood? What is that?” Bernard looked genuinely confused.

“So UNIT...?” the Doctor added curiously, although he still trusted the strange little man.

Bernard put his fingers to his lips. “A long time ago. The 1970s. Or was it the 80s?”

“You don’t look that old! You look 50 if a day? Probably less.”

“Ah, appearances can be deceptive. I have a good face cream,” he grinned self-consciously. “And actually it was my father, not me. I was a bit of a protégée as a child.”

The Doctor looked suspiciously at him. Maybe that was why the name was familiar.

“The important thing is that I won’t go to UNIT or anyone about you. Do no harm, remember? I’m a doctor. You were vomiting and you were sobbing your hearts out...”

“Hearts?” the Doctor questioned hurriedly.

“Well, you have a double pulse.”

“Quick of you.”

“Oh, well, I’m a genius, several times over,” Bernard said hurriedly, like he didn’t want to dwell on it or have people make a fuss. “I just think you are alone and lonely and needed some support. You found the designer of the Shenzhou 19 and brought him home?”

“Well... he travelled with me. I pretended I couldn’t get him home. I wanted him to want to stay... but he insisted and I brought him home but we ended up in Paris. But Europe isn’t like it should be.”

“It isn’t?”

“Trust me, I’m a Time Lord. This isn’t how it is supposed to be.”

“Ah! Oh! You’re the Doctor? Um... father told me about you.”

“What did your father do?”

“Oh, he was a rocket engineer.”

The Doctor tried to recall an engineer called Summerfield. He remembered a Bernard something, someone from the Rocket Group that had been seconded to UNIT by the Brigadier when he was setting it up, but that had been the 1960s. Maybe that was his father. He didn’t think the surname was the same.

“You were telling me about your companion.”

“We arrived in Paris, so we went to the Chinese Embassy in Brussels. They threw a Ball in his honour. They must have drugged me, as I woke four days later in the huge Refugee Camp called the New Jungle. I don’t know what happened to Yu, what they have done to him, if he is even alive. I know my TARDIS, my time-ship, is being held at Base 27 near Xichang in the Sichuan province, thanks to a friend I made. Another friend has told me to get to the South Train Station and get a train to Chengdu then get another to Xichang. I’ve no idea how long it will take me and how to find the base. As for getting inside... I have no idea what to do.”

Bernard put his hands on the Doctor’s again and squeezed. “Something will come up. You sound like you are good at finding people to help. I promise. Have faith.”

The Doctor looked across the table into the bright blue eyes of this kind stranger. “Thank you.” He looked down at their hands and took comfort in their human warmth covering his shaking ones

“I can’t help. I have my doctory duties. But I’m fascinated by you saying the world is not meant to be like this? Do you mean Britain becoming a fascist state? Or the US becoming a religious oppressive racist one? Or much or the Middle East left bombed out and burning? Or Korea and Iran nuclear wastelands? Or Iceland blowing up? What about the desertification and mass bush fires in Australia? And the famine last year? Did you hear about Hungary?”

“I can promise you, from the universe I come from only the Hungary earthquake is recorded time. I’m sorry to say that the environmental devastation of Australia might be meant to be, and the desertification of the Middle East – but not burning oil fields or nuclear wastelands. No no no! But the thing is, Doctor Summerfield, I really don’t think I’m in the right universe. I really don’t.”

“So you are saying there are other universes? Wow! Another theory proved right? A whole stack of universes, a multiverse, stacked on one another, like a pile of pancakes?”

“Yes,” the Doctor said, pulling his hands away, and running his hands through his hair. It stood on end for a moment then flopped forward again, “but to travel between them shouldn’t be so easy. I have evidence that this is another universe, but then, it also feels temporary, like a pocket universe, like the universe has been sidetracked, a separation from fixed time to create an alternative timeline...” he looked up and grinned at Bernard, embarrassed.

Bernard grinned flirtatiously and made a ‘over my head’ gesture with his hand. “Gives me a headache. But if what my old Dad used to tell me, you’ll fix it. Or one of you will. As I’m not sure, as his descriptions of the Doctor used to change. Never told me about one as lovely to look at as you. You need to look after yourself.”

“Do I?”

“You were vomiting and crying, remember? And your hands shake. Is there anything I can do, as a doctor, to make you better able to cope with your journey across China?”

The Doctor looked down, and whispered unhappily. “I was raped. More than once. I think I might have had an infection, but I’m normally aware of what is going on with my body more than this. I know I must have had a urine infection. Then, just as the symptoms stopped, I started to vomit. I’m beginning to think that it’s self disgust at all I had done to me, all I did...” he dropped his voice even lower, picking at a loose thread in his coat, “I consented, I let the chip and the tattoo define me, I... I...”

Bernard put his warm hand over the Doctor’s to still them, and squeezed. “You survived. You did what you had to, to survive. You’re here. You’re a day or so away from your TARDIS. I’m sure you will be able to rescue it. And hopefully your companion. But I must go Doctor, I’m due back at the hospital. I wish I could help you. I really do. But have faith in yourself. Don’t despise yourself. You had no choice. Do you have money for the tickets to get you to Xichang?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He squeezed the Doctor’s hand and released it, before standing. “Take care of yourself Doctor.”

The Doctor nodded and watched the human doctor walk away. He replayed the conversation over in his head, and wondered if it was a bit odd, but humans in the pre-stellar age were often a bit odd when meeting an alien. It had amazed him and how many across Europe, and TJ, on the TransSiberian Express, seemed to handle it in an unthreatened manner, especially considering, as Anton had said to him, xenophobia was a contagious disease on Earth right now.

He finished his tea and then left the cafe to work out how to get across Beijing. It was now six thirty local time and in the height of the rush hour. After he found out the local metro line to take him to the South Station he joined a queue for the Bureau de Change to turn his Roubles into Yen. He remembered the problems he’d had with Euros when he had arrived in Moscow.

He found that he had missed one of the two daily bullet trains, which proved to be beyond his financial means anyway, and that all the sleepers to Chengdu leaving in the early hours were booked for months, and so managed to book himself on the 1128 fast train the following morning, taking nearly all his cash. Although the kind woman in the South Station gave him the information and sold his booking, after he had to show his passport and again offer the lie he had been headhunted from the New Jungle, that he was a space scientist, he found out he needed to travel from the West Station the following morning. He left the station and began the long walk to the right station, but cold and tired, curled up on a park bench and went to sleep. He was awoken, cold and damp, and directed to a backpackers hostel by a stern but kind police officer, at just after midnight. He began to wish he had taken up Dr. Summerfield’s offer of money, he didn’t think his money was going to last him the entire journey and feed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: post-rape trauma, post-enforced prostitution trauma,


	3. Paris, October 2023

Ace yawned and leant back in her chair, stretching her arms. She’d been sitting in the alcove in the library for hours. This was more Benny’s forte. Still, she had made many notes for the Doctor, and hopefully it would lead him back to the moment of divergence. She herself had one suspect, not a time or place, but a person. She was sure this man, who kept cropping up, was the same bastard they’d come across before. Different face, but that meant nothing with his species.

It had taken her a while. Although very comfortable with 25th century tech, she was an amateur with the early twenty-first century computers and ‘net’. When she’d been at school, they had had one BBC Micro for the whole school, which was why most computer studies taught her logic and binary. A useful background though, although neuro-nets and positronic brains did not follow binary logic gateways. Probably the internet was developing its own lateral processes, the amount of crap the humans of this era uploaded onto it.

She found a man, a politician, a British born, Huguenot descended, ex-banker with a Spanish wife (so his biog said, Ace found his appearance post-City all right, but before that very little, no traces of birth certificates or marriage or schooling – like he had landed, claiming he had left the City and banking, making up his entire back story, and no one had thought to check anything). 

He was everywhere in the run up to the confusing British referendum and American Presidential election of 2016. In fact, he had been all over the British media since 2010. He’d took over a crack pot little Englander party a few years before that, but suddenly print and TV media were giving him so much attention, far more than he deserved, considering his party had zero MPs and the other small, some would say crack-pot, party, the Greens, whom actually had one MP by that time, received no media attention at all. The Daily Mail loved him, and she could see they continued their hate filled, lying, racist, scumbag agenda they had when she had lived on Earth in the seventies and eighties. The Tory leader of 2010 had pandered to his polices and promised the said mysterious referendum. He’d won the election and practically cut the Welfare State to ribbons and blamed immigration and the disabled. Terrifyingly classic fascist stuff here, Ace was horrified to discover. Worse and more terrifying than the cuts under Thatcher she’d grown up with. At least Thatcher owned them and claimed they were good for the economy. Britain had been booming economically up to 2010, so maybe the bitch had been right? But she didn’t pick on minorities and blame them, at least.

Following the elections, frog-face was everywhere, in a gold lift with the new moronic President (and maybe he was an alien, as he didn’t even look human, but even if he was, he was born on Earth, as his backgrounds checked out), all over the British media, taunting and mocking the opposition and new government alike, now led by another Tory woman, but one without the charisma and brains. A puppet? Or just a fragging racist muppet?

Further digging found his connections with multi-billionaires, with evidence of their funding of psi-op type use of info gathered from the Internet. It seemed Americans and the British alike had been addicted to their shiny new smart computer devices, and instead of using them as useful tools, allowed themselves to be distracted and dumbed down and deadened to what was going on around them. This made their feeds on social media easily manipulated, being fed a drip-drip of lies full of hate and blame to minority groups for their falling standards of living. It was classic fascist stuff within a new powerful, addictive, terrifying 24-hour complete media universe. People had just lay down and allowed themselves to be manipulated and controlled and watched. For older people, in Britain at least, there was still the Fail and the Scum, peddling their hate, emboldened and worst that Ace remembered, seemingly completely immune to prosecution, even if they were, they paid the fine, issued the retraction at the bottom of page 7 or something in tiny print, and carried on.

Following the referendum Polish and Muslim people, and others, were firebombed and beaten up and killed. The British public seemed to shrug its shoulders and not believe it. After all they had voted Leave on a few lies, so obviously the ‘left’ lied too. In other words, the bloody scumbag toe rags wouldn’t take responsibility for the results of their vote. They were manipulated by anti-immigration and anti-Islamic rhetoric and then refused to accept responsibility when it went belly-up, which any passing knowledge of 1930s Germany would have told them it would.

Still, the Doctor had said it wasn’t meant to be, so he could put this right and stop it ever happening. She looked at her watch. Time to get to the front of the library for her pick-up. If the Professor was on time, that was. She gathered up all the evidence she had printed and headed for the stairs.

 

*

 

He was, in fact, early, the TARDIS was parked across the square at the entrance to a small park, under some maple trees. She stormed into the TARDIS. He was leant over the console, his hands on the telepathic circuits. An arch with a head attachment hung from the TARDIS ceiling. Ace had no idea what it was, and as she was so angry to what was happening to her home, she didn’t notice just quite how pale and wan and drawn out he looked, or the fact he was wearing a generic, boring, blue suit and a fake beard. Neither did she notice the ornately decorated pocket watch, disregarded on the console beside him.

“It’s this toad face! Look at him,” Ace had starting speaking as soon as she came into the TARDIS, as she had smashed the doors open. “I bet he’s the Monk, Mortimus, look at him!” Ace said, waving sheet after sheet of newsprints. “He turns a crack pot party into a real one, changes the agenda and the politics to such a point they had a referendum that no one knew what to do with, so the fascists took over the ideas. Slowly, subtly, like, here and the States. Brain washing people and downright lies. It’s all here Professor! Crukking frog face monster. Look at him. Mates with the US president now, and he’s an imbecile, totally gaga - twisting people, making them not see the evil...”

“Yes yes Ace,” the Doctor agreed, his voice sounding pained and a little breathless. “We will investigate, but right now, while Benny does a little more research for us, we have a Time Lord to track and watch.”

“Mortimus. Meddling fragging Monk. Yeah, I said.”

“What?” the Doctor looked up from the console. He looked more then a bit pale.

“Are you alright Professor?” Ace asked.

The Doctor put his arm around Ace and pulled her into a hug, pressing his forehead to hers. “No Ace. I’ve just seen my future. My personal future. Or at least, a possible one. And it’s not pretty.”

“What? You? You don’t mean you caused this to...?”

“No!” the Doctor stepped back, looking horrified. “I seem to be a hapless victim among the changes, I...” he looked down at himself. “I need to change.”

Ace really looked at him. “Why have you got a fragging stupid beard? You’re not cosplaying fuzzface are you? And what the cruk is that?” Ace asked as she banged her head on the head attachment of the arch thing.

The Doctor began to peel off the beard. “It’s called a Chameleon Arch. It rewrites DNA. I disguised myself as human, and as for this-” he looked at the beard in his hand “- well, I’m not going to forget my own face, am I, however many centuries in my future.”

“You talked to him... yourself... him?”

The Doctor walked away. Ace was having no truck with that, so, placing her evidence on top of the console, she followed the Doctor through the corridors to his own bedroom.

“ACE!” he snapped, as she stood in the doorway, while he was taking his trousers off.

“Oh come on Professor, I don’t mean...” she caught the dark look in his eyes and turned her back, like a gentleman.

“I was raped,” he began, and as Ace’s mouth formed a shocked noise, he hurriedly added, “the other me, my future me. And I talked to myself, saw myself arrive and listened in to him talk to himself and crystallised it in Time. I can’t go back and prevent... I can’t rescue...”

“You’ve been raped before, and survived,” Ace began slowly, taking a step closer, walking backwards. “Are you decent yet?”

“Yes, I know. But I... he... had been through so much in such a short time.”

Ace turned and folded her arms around him. “So, why are we tracking him then, if we can’t save him?”

“There was something Ace, something off. He was me, but he wasn’t. Time and space shifted uncomfortable about him, I’m not sure if he is me in my future or another Doctor entirely.”

“Another Doctor? What? From another Universe? But you said Rassilon...?”

“He could have missed them? Or it could be propaganda? For I know, his Rassilon destroyed the other Gallifreys first and mine just took credit, hiding us.”

“Sounds like the devious sort of lie that Rassilon would do. And talking of devious, lying politicians, when are we sorting out my home, when are you looking at what I found out?”

“Later Ace, I need to know who he is and how he arrived and if we can help more. He’s trying to rescue his companion and the TARDIS. I was trying to trace her when you came in. But somehow, whoever is holding her, is blocking her temporal and spatial location and her telepathic artron signature and matrix. That would take a complex mix of matter and energy, mostly in base heavy metal and crystal form.”

Ace moved a pile of books and shirts and sat down on the chair in front of the Doctor’s dressing table. She picked up his hairbrush and fiddled with it. The UK could wait, the TARDIS was a time machine, and she didn’t like to think of the Professor, even a future one, even one from another dimension, lost from his own TARDIS and alone, recovering from rape.

“What do we do then?”

The Doctor flopped onto his own bed, now dressed in his own white suit over a blue shirt and hideously patterned cravat. “I don’t know yet. I’m thinking.”

“I’ll make us a pot of tea, then. Alright Professor?”

He didn’t acknowledge her as she left his room; he was deep in thought, staring into space, the fate of his future self and the Earth on his shoulders both.

 

*

 

The Doctor decided to gather as much data as possible, as he had repeated to Ace when she questioned the point of the exercise,

“Data Ace! Data! How can I decide anything about this man, whether he is me or another me from somewhere else?”

“How is following him going to help then?”

“I saw him in Paris, yesterday, local time, so we’re going to wait for him to arrive and you will follow, okay, and...”

“Get intel. Yeah yeah.”

“And Ace, leave the arms. Paris had had some very nasty terrorist incidents over the last ten years, it tends to make the Paris police trigger happy, shoot first, ask questions later.”

“Fine.” Ace dropped her sidearm onto the Chippendale occasional table by the hatstand.

“And the rest.”

Ace glared at the Doctor, but dropped her dinky pistol and knife too.

“And...” the Doctor gestured to her feet.

“I’m keeping the boot knife, okay Professor!”

“If you must, but don’t draw it, or you might get shot.”

She pulled a long black duster coat over her black one-piece and left the TARDIS. They had parked in the Gare du Nord. It was just approaching midnight and all was deserted apart from some late night workers catching the last commuter trains and a handful of drunks, a few working girls, and far more homeless beggars, all of whom seemed to be Asian or Black English or Arab Syrian. An Italian coffee franchise was still open, so she bought herself a double espresso and a bacon and cheese panini and leant on a far wall.

She stood there for over two hours. In that time, smart business people and families had arrived to catch a cross-continental sleeper, plus a few final local stopping services arrived. He was on the last one, trailing after the few country people that also got off, looking rather nervous, ashamed and afraid, completely unlike the Doctor should.

She knew it was him; the Doctor had described him perfectly. Young looking. Tall. Skinny. Brown suit with stripes. White All-Star Converses. Brown hair gelled up into crazy spikes. Freckles and hazel eyes.

“That all you got?” she’d teased.

“Modesty forbids, Ace,” he had said, grinning widely.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“He’s drop-dead gorgeous, I’m going to be very very handsome Ace,” he had said happily.

“Yeah. Right. You know, if he is from another universe, whose to say you’ll regenerate into him at all, you might regenerate into a boring old fart, or an ugly git with sticky out ears, or maybe even a woman.”

“True, that’s the problem with regeneration, you don’t know what’ll you’ll get,” he agreed darkly.

But he was right. Not to her taste. He wasn’t so much handsome as pretty, with delicate bone structure that was almost feminine, if he hadn’t had the stubble Ace could have thought he was a girl in drag, and skinny didn’t cover it. He was a long thin string of spaghetti, a thin stick of nothing! 

He trailed miserably out of the station to the taxi ranks. Ace followed discreetly, but he didn’t seem to notice anything much at all. The taxi driver behind his was so excited to be told to ‘follow that cab’, he babbled on until Ace told him to shut it.

She got him to drop her at the end of the street, with a promise of a bonus if he waited. As she hadn’t paid him, he had no choice if he wanted the money, anyway.

The other Doctor was trying to open a communal door into the front yard of an apartment complex, an old one, probably early 1800s, by the look of it, the style that inspired the New York Brownstones a century later. It looked rundown and shabby, and the door was obviously locked and bolted. It was a seedy neighbourhood, who could blame the neighbours.

He started muttering to himself, she wasn’t even sure he was aware he spoke aloud. He appeared to be talking to an imaginary Jamie.

Ace knew all about James Robert McCrimmon, possibly THE love of the Doctor’s very long life. If he was talking to an imaginary version of his long dead human husband, then things were very bad indeed.

He carried on muttering to himself, about someone called Donna, and Rose, and his TARDIS, and a man called Commander Chan Yu, and how disgusting human males could be.

Yeah, well, he’d get no arguments from her on that score.

Since he seemed half-crazy and talking to imaginary past companions, Ace stepped swiftly out of the shadows for a moment. He might be a future Doctor, or another universe’s Doctor, but he was at his lowest, in a funk of despair, loneliness, and pain, and needed snapping out of it. Ace knew how to deal with a Doctor in distress.

“Get up, you soggy, disgusting, toe rag. I always said you were a tart! Stop wallowing Professor and get up and try round the back,” she snapped, before running away, making sure she took a mental note of the address as she ran.

*

The Doctor was sitting up in the console room when she arrived. He’d found an armchair from somewhere and was laid back in it, feet up on a table, reading, a pot of tea in front of him. A plate of hot toast and butter was covered by another plate, as if waiting for her. She pulled up a wickerwork chair and sat down, cramming hot, comforting toast into her mouth. He put down his book and looked up inquiringly.

“His TARDIS arrived in the thirteenth arrondissement, on top of an old eighteenth century building, that must have been a separate manor or whatever before, when we were last here Professor. Looks like a New York brownstone or something. Reckon it’s been split into flats for a hundred years or more. I’m guessing his TARDIS landed on the roof. It isn’t there now, I checked. He was on the floor blubbering like a baby and talking to himself. No, he was talking to an imaginary Jamie and me and someone called Rose. I answered,” Ace concluded with a grin, before popping the remaining toast in her mouth and pouring herself a cup of tea, liberally sugaring it.

“Very well, Ace. We will give him time to discover that its missing and then go and interview the Concierge. You say I – he – was crying?”

“He’d prostituted himself, hadn’t he? Felt filthy and ashamed, it was coming off him in waves. Could smell it on him, like I can you...”

“Ace! I have never, ever...!”

“You’ve had sex though, for all sorts of reasons, not one them love or lust. Well, except fuzzyface the psycho, and that is just pathetic! I smell it, in here,” Ace tapped the side of her head. It had taken them a while, perhaps years, time passed differently in the TARDIS, since she had come back after a five year break, when she had served first as a Dalek killer, then as a mercenary and finally for the IMC militia. For a long time she felt he could hardly look at her. She felt, from talking to Bernice, she had been gone merely months for them. He missed his old Ace, she guessed, not this grown up one who couldn’t be manipulated and played with like a pawn. Nowadays, and she couldn’t work out when or how, as it seemed to evolve slowly and naturally as if it was meant to be, she was privy to his thoughts and plans, and if anyone else got manipulated, Benny for instance, or even his own future incarnation, she went along with it with no remorse or guilt. Did she trust him again?

Yes, yes she did. Implicitly. She was surprised to realise it, but somehow, knowing this dark manipulative persona would pass was making it easier. And he wasn’t really manipulating his future self; his natural curiosity had just trapped him into not being able to rescue him.

“I suppose so,” the Doctor sighed sadly, not arguing in the least, pouring himself another cup and dropping in a sugar cube. He stirred it thoughtfully.

Ace waited for him to say something, but he didn’t, just stared sadly into his teacup. “Sorry,” she said, “about you and, you know, the Master fur ball...”

“No. No Ace, it’s true. I have known decent love once, Ace.” The Doctor fell silent, a private smile on his face. Ace remembered that smile from when they found some old sixties style black and white photos, and blond man and woman in sixties clothes, and a dark haired man in a kilt. Jamie McCrimmon. The moment of loss on the Doctor’s face passed and he smiled a little more wryly. “And will, it seems,” he added, then said decisively, “We need to find the location of Commander Chan Yu, that is something we can do for the Doctor, even if we can’t stop the things that will happen on his journey ahead of him.”

“Yeah, but how?”

“I’m not sure yet. I suggest you get some sleep Ace. You’ve been up more than a day with all the time hopping.”

Ace yawned, as if on demand, once she would have suspected him of manipulating her, planting the yawn, but she knew from her years as a combat soldier that her body needed rest. “’Right then. Night Professor.”

“I’ll wake you in five hours with coffee,” the Doctor promised.


	4. Beijing, trying to get to Chengdu, 23rd November 2023

The Doctor awoke, confused and heavy, on a small bunk. All around him people were stirring and dressing. It took him a moment, as for a while he had expected to be on a train. The lack of gentle swaying movement and the lack of the click-clack and the purr of the electric rails and engines threw him for a moment. He was fine. He was.

He sat up slowly. The room span and he flopped back down onto the thin pillow, and carefully propped himself up by an arm and looked about him. Young men, mostly African, Indian, and, Asian, were hurriedly dressing and packing, chatting to each other, as most appeared to be travelling in groups. One man was talking on his phone to his girlfriend in the women’s dorm. He could hear but not see some white men too, that is, he could hear an Aussie or Kiwi accent.

“Are you okay?” a tall Nigerian asked in careful Mandarin. “You got here very late.”

“Fine,” the Doctor whispered. He pulled the sheet up to his neck. He was not shaking. He was not afraid.

“Well, okay. They serve the breakfast until nine, but we have to be out of the room after eight thirty, okay.”

“Wh... what?” the Doctor coughed. He was not intimidated by all these young male humans. He was not! “What time is it?”

The man pulled his phone from his back pocket of his jeans, “7:09,” he replied. “Coming?” he called to his friend, on the bunk the other side of the row.

“Yep. Really for noodles?” he split a grin as he shouldered his backpack. The man next to the Doctor did the same. The left followed by a group of four Indian young men, all chatting nineteen to the dozen about what sights they planned to see that day, checking their itinerary and their tour guide’s number.

The Malaysian seemed to be in a full scale row now, his girlfriend wanted to go on to Shanghai and he wanted to go to the Great Wall first, he seemed to think their guide would not allow them to change plans, but she was determined it would be fine. He hung up in a huff, telling her they would talk over breakfast.

The Doctor tried to sit up, but the wave of vertigo and nausea so great, he lay back down. What was wrong with him? He closed his eyes.

He remembered feeling so tired and heavy the previous night. The queue for the Bureau de Change when he arrived at the Main Station had been so long, he had walked to the South Station, taking in both ancient and modern sights, silver towers and green pagodas, busy streets and quiet parklands. By the time he had arrived, he was worn out, hungry, and faint, to find he was at the wrong station and getting a train to Chengdu was more complex than travelling in Europe, where you could just turn up and buy and ticket there and then and board the next available train. Once travel documents and instructions were sorted out, he had to cross the city again in the growing night time, feeling so tired, and find somewhere to wait until late the following morning. He had despaired in South Station, beginning to feel he was like a hamster running on a wheel, train after train, problem after problem, endlessly. Earth was far bigger then he had really thought about. He hoped TJ would invent the transmat soon. He loved trains, but was realising that to actually rely on them, rather than ride them for fun, they were slow and primitive.

He was also forever questioned about why he was a white person travelling alone and unescorted, and constantly had to produce the passport the Master had forged for him. He began to realise the wisdom in the younger Master making him a naturalised Chinese citizen, as soon as he produced it he was apologised to and welcomed. 

He had left the station in a funk. What was wrong with him, he felt so indecisive and unlike himself. His back ached, his legs were like lead, and he was so tired. Maybe he should have taken the Rani’s third pill? In his arrogance he had assumed...

No!

No way!

Not in the least.

But perhaps she should have given him a month of anti-depressives/anti-anxiety/sedative tablets, not a weeks worth?

He had found a stand selling fried noodles and bought a box, plus some tea, and sat on the street, where he was, and ate furiously.

“Australian?” asked the stallholder, curiously.

“Um, no...”

“New Zealand? Canadian? Where is your tour guide?”

“I’m Chinese,” the Doctor replied.

She laughed, “No you’re not. You might have citizenship, but you’re not Chinese, you’re too tall and pink!”

The Doctor couldn’t decide if she was racist or good-natured. “I was British,” he lied primly. “I work for the IMC. I missed my train to Chengdu.”

“There is a good, cheap, hotel near West Station, in the Street of Green Lanterns. They aren’t licensed for tourists, but if you have your Chinese passport and IMC ID, they should give you a room,” she told him kindly. “My, you were hungry. More?”

The Doctor realised he was hungry, after feeling so sick earlier, and throwing up two big meals. He had opted for very bland rice noodles with cabbage and tofu. The thought of eating anything with spice or meat made him nauseous all over again. “Yes please, but noodle soup this time. Something easy to digest. I was ill this afternoon, it’s why I missed my train.”

She smiled, “Some chicken, maybe?”

“No, no meat, thank you.”

“Then egg?” she dished him a bowl of clear soup with shredded greens and bean sprouts with tiny pieces of omelette floating among the vegetables, then dropped a portion of wheat noodles into it and handed it to him.

The Doctor had not risked the hotel, he had a forged passport and no citizenship card or work ID, and tourists and guest workers seemed to be very controlled and only permitted in certain areas. Some people, obviously, also, had heard of the EuroZone chip and tattoo, as some Chinese, particularly older women, gave him looks of either strong disapproval or deep pity. The control obviously extended to sleeping in parks. The policeman who had woken him was kind but stern, assuming him an antipodeans tourist, who had separated from his party and drunk too much, and had escorted him to the nearest backpackers hostel with strict instructions to contact his tour guide in the morning.

Now it felt like the noodles were coming back to say hello. He lay on his side, swallowing bile and forcing back his retches, while the room swam, tasting tofu and egg and cabbage along with the bile. Suddenly he could hold on no longer, and crouching, so not to lift his head too high where the world span all the more, he rushed in the direction he hoped was the bathroom, to the door the opposite end of the exit.

A man was singing in the shower as he rushed in, but stopped at the sounds of vomiting.

“Did we have a little too much to drink last night?” a clear, teasing, Kiwi voice called.

The Doctor sat back and wiped his mouth. He had pulled off coat, jumper, shoes, and trousers and fell into bed as soon as he arrived. He felt naked and exposed in his shirttails and socks as the man stepped out of the shower cubicle in nothing but a tiny green towel around his waist. The Doctor looked up at the fit young man and moaned, laying his cheek on the toilet bowl. He felt a hand on his forehead, human warm and dry.

“Jeez mate, you’re so cold and clammy. You okay?”

“I think I have an infection. Something’s invaded my body.”

“Did you get all your shots?”

The Doctor thought of the Gallifreyan nanites coursing through his system, supposedly protecting him from alien virus and bacteria. Nothing was full proof, of course, but with those and the amount of time in his life he’d been on Earth, he thought he had a high immunity.

“Yes. But I’ve been run down. Out of sorts. Stressed.”

“Need a hand?”

“I think I’m going to stay here for a while, in case I’m sick again.”

“Okay, but don’t stay too long. It was already 8:10 when I woke up. They chuck us out at 8:30.”

The Doctor made a whimpering noise when he had meant to make one of understanding. His pathetic behaviour frightened him. He also appeared to have lost an hour; he must have slept again without realising it.

He remembered the despair he had felt as he crashed out. Who wanted a sleepy, vomiting, tart? How would he...?

Suddenly he remembered the money cards Ace had given him. It didn’t matter if the last money he’d earned in Poland had nearly all gone as he had that money. He wondered if the Roubles on the money card could be converted to Yen in cash.

“Hey...?” the young New Zealander reappeared, dressed in green jean shorts and an army jacket and boots, carrying the Doctor’s clothes and bag.

The Doctor looked up. “Doctor, I’m the Doctor.”

“Hey Doc. I’m Rob. I got your clothes. The cleaners are already in the room, I said you were sick. But you need to get dressed pronto.”

The Doctor quickly wriggled into his black jeans and pulled on his Converses over yesterdays none too fresh socks, then folded the green jumper and black trench coat he’d got from the Master over his bag, quickly unzipping it to check Fizzy was there.

The dining room was behind the reception area downstairs. Rob waved to a woman in dungarees with bright pink hair. “Hey Nell, did you save me some food?” They embraced and kissed. “Oh, this is the Doc. Sit down mate, I’ll get you something.” He peered towards the breakfast buffet table. Nothing much was left, just some rice porridge, one egg pancake, a couple of steamed rice balls and dumplings. 

“Just tea, please,” the Doctor said quietly, sitting down.

“Hi,” said Nell. “Don’t want to be rude, but are you a joyboy?”

The Doctor quickly covered the tattoo on his left wrist with his right hand. “NO!” he said half-hysterically.

Nell held up her hands. “Sorry. Hey, I’m sorry. I was just curious. You’re English right?”

“Sort of,” the Doctor agreed. “And I’m not, not any more.”

“What, a whore, or English?”

“Neither. The CAIC head hunted me. I missed my connection yesterday.”

“So you really are a Doctor, then?”

“Yes. Of many things. But it’s my name too.”

“Some gang put that in you then?” Nell asked, ever curious, her bright green eyes unrelenting. She touched his hand though, in sympathy.

“What’s this then?” Rob asked, sitting down. He’d plated up all that was left of the breakfast buffet. They were the only ones left. He started to eat; they had ten minutes until they were kicked out. The Doctor picked up his tea and sipped slowly.

“The Doctor. He’s a scientist. He was head hunted out of the British camps in Europe. But some gang drugged him and put one of those whore chips in him.”

“Yes, that’s how it happened,” the Doctor snapped as Rob looked at him with sympathy.

“Jeez, no wonder you were sick. Your body’s probably not used to proper food. I hear it’s all mouldy potatoes and roots and you’re using up stocks of tinned food across Europe. I read somewhere, even with rationing, there’s less than six months left of tins. Australia lost a year’s crops and too many sheep, but the aide from us and all over Asia got to them, but when Iceland blew...”

“It is bad,” the Doctor agreed, thinking of the heavy EuroCombine bread flour, the rationing, of Nicolette struggling in Paris, so generously sharing what she had, of Ayesha in the New Jungle camp, struggling to feed her family, of Anton, on a good salary, with a bare cupboard eating meals cooked by his cleaner of nothing but potatoes and carrots and a bit of meat once a day, of Nazir and his wife in the Secure Compound, with privileges as political refugees, still living on potatoes and a few lentils, of clever Aafreen, finding ways to feed her family and neighbours traditional Syrian foods out of tinned fruit and veg and rice from the UN to replace wheat, but there not being ever enough. Even in that frightening exclusive brothel in Berlin, the food had been basic, based around the rationed grey, heavy, bread and tins, although they did have some fresh salad, grown in pot plants. And then he thought of the amazing food still on offer for the right price he saw in one evening as a high-class escort in Paris. “Unless you are rich and selfish,” he added sadly.

“Can we help, in any way? We’re meeting our tour guide at ten at the gates of the Forbidden City, but before that...?” Nell offered.

“It’s fine. Thank you. I just need to get to West Station and pick up my train to Chengdu.” The Doctor stood, draining his tea, and smiled. “Thank you again. Enjoy your holiday.”

“No worries mate,” Rob said.

“Take care of yourself Doctor!” Nell called.  
*

The walk took him back through another beautiful, large park. He saw a group of kindergarten children out with their teachers and carers, walking neatly in a crocodile, holding hands, chattering among themselves and sliding in the frosty clear ice still left in the shady spots. A group of elderly, retired, people were doing Tai Chi together. Another group sat at a tea stand, chatting, some playing mah-jongg or chess. The sun was low in the sky, wintery weak pale yellow but bright and cheering. Birds were singing in the bare branches of the trees. After a while the nausea abated and the Doctor began to relax and feel at peace. After more than three weeks in Europe, including Russian Europe, under the pumice, dust, and ash that was all that was left that had been Iceland covering the sky, blocking the sun, it was beautiful, breath-taking, just to see blue skies and a yellow sun. Skies however still full of tiny, invisible, dust particles and empty of planes. TJ had to get the bullet train to Shanghai and hope the Pacific was clear to South Africa or he was on a ship with the possibility of missing the birth of his second child. It was admirable how the humans were trying to maintain their global interconnectedness, despite the natural and man made disasters destroying the skies.

Now he was depressed again. Until recently, he had hardly been in the twenty-first century, and then it had been later on in the century and often on the Moon or a space station rather than the planet. In part, after the TARDIS had brought him to London 2005 after the Time War, after... After!... the reason he kept coming back was the miniscule risk to his running into his early, pre Time War selves. Well, except his Seventh self and Ace. And he had done just that, except it wasn’t his Ace, wasn’t him...

Stop over-thinking Doctor! Get to the TARDIS and Yu then think! He tipped his head back and looked through the Autumn leaves to the clear sky above, the silver and glass skyscrapers on the horizon, the pagodas on the edge of the park. Donna would have loved it here, he thought.

A while later, after he had left the parkland and was almost at the station, he realised he was hungry. At the end of the street, on the edge of a market square, a breakfast fast food stand was packing up. The owner looked up as he approached, and muttered something that sounded like, “Long streak of white devil!” she then scowled.

“I’m finished, all gone,” she snapped.

The Doctor grinned his most charming smile, “Ooh, don’t say that. It’s a long way to Chengdu, and your streamed buns are famous.”

“Where are you from? Why are you going to Chengdu? For the pandas? Why aren’t you with a proper tourist party? Your guide should arrange your food.”

The Doctor raised his knee and balanced his bag on his thigh, fumbling through it. “Aha! Chinese passport. See!” he practically yelled, waving it in the stallholder’s face. “I need to go on to Xichang Space Port. I’m a scientist. And starving.” He smiled again.

She didn’t exactly smile back, but she bend down and opened her stall cabinet and pulled out two small bamboo baskets. “This is all I have left. No meat left. Just egg and spring vegetable stuffing and with eggplant and tofu.”

The Doctor dropped his bag and struggled with his jeans pocket, “How much?”

She waved her hand. “No charge, it was going to be binned anyway. I know you British who come here; you were starving on the edge of Europe. No food. It’s why you’re so skinny and pale. Help us get to Mars first. China is awesome, yes?”

The Doctor shoved the money back into his pocket, shouldered his bag, and took the two baskets, each containing six steamed buns. “Thank you. And yes it is, and you Chinese people are too. Awesome. Everyone is so kind.” He bowed and managed in ancient Hokin, “Humble thanks honoured grandmother.”

The old lady finally smiled, blushing slightly. “You learnt my dialect. I too am honoured. It is a long time since I heard it spoken. Have a safe journey.” With that she shut her cart again, and carried on folding down its canvas roof, pushing it away towards the road as she did so.

 

*

 

The Doctor queued for what seemed forever to pick up and pay for his ticket he had reserved the night before at the wrong station. He then queued for an equally long time at the Bureau de Change but managed to change the Roubles money card into cash Yen, which made him feel a little more secure. However, to pay for a berth with a soft bunk, which with the pain he was in, he felt essential, had left him with little on his money card, a little less that 300 Yen, and the cash he had earned from his last ‘trick’ in Poland was also nearly all gone. He was grateful to the kindness of the old lady and his free steamed buns. He must try to make them last, he couldn’t really risk any more expenditure until he had secured the ticket on the next leg of the journey.

As he queued to board the train, a policeman approached him. “Where are your tour guide and party? Why are you alone?”

The Doctor smiled thinly. This was getting tedious. He fetched his passport and explained again his covering lie about the CAIC headhunting him for the IMC and being mugged and was trying to report to Xichang Space Port. For one terrifying moment, when the policeman unclipped his radio, the Doctor was worried that the officer was going to check with the IMC or CAIC. He held his breath and chewed his lip, concentrating on not looking guilty or running. He let out the breath as he realised the police officer was answering a call for assistance, a Philippine party of tourists had a medical need, one of its members had collapsed. The officer handed the Doctor his passport without another word, nodding to the woman on the gate checking tickets, and strode off to deal with whatever was happening across the concourse.

 

* 

Surprisingly, the carriage was not particularly full, and all were Chinese, the first class – or most comfortable as it was called - carriage, the one next to his, was full of tourists off to see the pandas at the reserve and research bases. Once the Doctor had proved to the nosy men and women on his ‘medium comfort’ carriage he was Chinese, or at least, a naturalized Chinese citizen, they left him alone, mostly working on laptops or watching their tablets or phones, or reading. At the other end was a family with a disabled child, cerebral palsy, the Doctor guessed, of about five or six, and they were singing to her to keep her calm until the train left.

He had a bunk to himself, right by the door, near the bathroom. He sat down, putting his bag beside him, and sipped his now lukewarm tea and pulled out one of the bamboo containers that he had long since stowed in the bag. The ripe smell of unwashed clothes hit him as he did so, and remembered his socks had been on his feet for nearly two days. He creased his nose in disgust, and placed the basket beside him, unopened, and looked out of the window at the platform. Maybe he’d feel up to eating later. He sipped his tea again. Until recently he had been drinking black tea with milk and sugar, and then lovely milky sweet Indian chai, and then mint tea. Green tea was nice, and the only option that didn’t make him feel queasy, but he wished the Chinese, for all their being the home of cha, of Camellia Sinensis, he wished they did a mean mint tisane. Nothing like mint, like Mentha, for settling the stomach.

Then again, maybe mint wasn’t a good idea...

Why think that Doctor? Stop it!

The train began to vibrate and with a huge roar of the engines firing up as the train readied itself to leave. The lights came on as they started to slowly move, the purr of the powerful electric engines gathering energy from the wires setting the Doctor’s teeth on edge. He curled up and leant his cheek on the window. They were going faster now, Beijing whipping by fast, buildings and roads and parklands a blur of colour.

2,200 miles to go, 21 hours and 11 minutes of enforced stillness again. He’d thought he could watch the world go by, but it was going so fast it was making him dizzy. Maybe once they were out of the city and into the countryside. Holding his breath, he rifled through his bag, giving the toy rabbit a secret stroke, before pulling out his glasses along with one of the silly chick fics he’d read once on the Trans-Siberian Express. The first one, the one about the woman who suddenly, unexpectedly, became a parent after losing her friend...

It was going to be a very long 21 hours, of that he had no doubt. He hoped Yu was still alive. He needed him so badly; he needed an unconditional hug so much.

 

*

 

Yu was at that moment sat crossed legged on the mattress on the floor, his back to the bare concrete wall, a tally of the days scratched above his head, an almost empty bowl of congee rice porridge beside him on the bed. He concentrated on his breathing, listening.

Where are you Doctor? Have they caught you again? Raped you again? Are you alive? Have you regenerated and forgotten me? That last film, the one on the phone, they hurt you so much. Why show me? Why?

Yu forcibly filled his mind with ancient prayers to the ancestors and old poetry and nursery rhymes his mother had taught him, along with songs from Disney movies and Western musicals and all the things forbidden to him but he found anyway, sneaking through cracks in the cyber walls from a young teenager. Anything to block the tinny sound of the Doctor’s screams recorded on some bastard’s phone. To block also the facts of his blood type and bone marrow, his very DNA and compatibility, were put on the organ donation register, leaving him waiting for a match, waiting for an execution, an execution for in part knowing the bloody Disney and musical theatre songs...

A scratching sound, followed by a little squeak, however, did block the memory, for a few blessed moments, at least.

Yu opened his eyes and smiled, holding out his fingers, clicking them and his tongue. A grey rat ran quickly to him, stopping short of his bedding, sitting up and washing its whiskers.

“A little pork today, Remmy, nothing more.” Yu picked up a sliver of fried meat with his chopsticks from the bowl and tossed it on the floor in front of the rat, who gobbled it up. Yu laughed a little, and did it again, with a tiny piece of spring onion and rice. “Is that nice little brother?” he asked. “Nice food, yes?”

Oh Doctor, I hope you can pull your usual Doctory miracle and rescue me! If... when!... you do, I’m going to hug you so tight and never leave you again. You need a protector as much as I need a rescuer...


	5. Paris, October 2023

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple of trigger warnings below

The Doctor awoke Ace as promised, a few hours later, bearing a tray with a pile of toast, bacon, and a large pot of coffee. Ace struggled to sit up, stretching, and yawning, and regarded the tray. The Doctor instantly poured her a large coffee, sugared it, and handed it to her.

“Better?”

“Less tired, but when are we gonna fix Mortimus?”

“It’s only your supposition that it is indeed the Meddling Monk, Ace. I had a look at this banker, and he isn’t an incarnation that I recognise. I tried to track his TARDIS, but we are hopping so much, we’re all over the place. There is also another TARDIS soon to arrive in Australia – that is, Jamie, Victoria, and a very young me – plus, surprisingly, another Time Lady, who has been here nearly a year. I popped us over to Poland while you slept, but I left that for my future self.”

“Ruath?”

“The Rani.”

“Oh. Well, she won’t do much, will she?”

The Doctor shrugged. “She goes where humans are already making a bad mess of things, so not really. Not there, at least. No important historical figures caught in the crossfire.” He handed her the plate of bacon and buttered toast. Ace started eating with her fingers, greedily. “I know you’re worried about your home, Ace. As am I. It really isn’t meant to become a fascist state, nor is America. We will find out what went wrong. But I’m slightly concerned it is we who are in the wrong universe, not this other, future, me. He feels off, time bends around him, but that still doesn’t rule out we are both in the wrong universe.”

“If one man can slowly, sort of, drip drip drip, change the political agenda, get big business and stuff on his side, manipulate two countries...” Ace began.

“Three, I’ve been looking through all you brought with you and more. He tried with Germany too. Luckily, knowing their own history, most of the electorate were far, far more difficult to manipulate with some simplistic anti-Islamic pictures and false news. They’ve been fooled once, and once burnt, twice shy, even if it were their great great grandparents.”

“So, he is Mortimus?”

“Ace, Ace, Ace. Humans can be clever and evil and manipulate people, all by themselves, you know. I will not act until I know it is my universe, my home, or a splinter caused by interference. That’s all I can promise. But first, we need to find out more about my future incarnation.”

“The pretty one?”

“Why thank you,” the Doctor smirked.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m gonna shower.”

“Would you like me to braid your hair?”

“Why? We going to battle then?”

“I doubt it. I used to always do your hair.”

“I’m not a kid no more Professor.”

“It was good, like bonding...”

“Yeah. maybe. Like monkeys you mean?” Ace looked at the Doctor sitting on her bed by the tray of her decimated breakfast, looking wistful, and remembered what he had experienced second hand from the future Doctor and regretted her flippant answer. She grinned at him and said softly. “Think about it. If you have plans beyond going to where his TARDIS landed. Or after maybe.”

 

*

 

Nicolette had just instructed the two Korean refugees part-time staff she employed for the hard, physical stuff, to clean the stairs and landings, when a man and a woman walked into the front door of the apartment's entrance. One of her tenants must have forgotten to click the lock after they left for work. He was of indeterminate age, anywhere between 35 and 55, dressed in a white linen suit and blue shirt and purple paisley cravat, not exactly dressed for the cold Autumn weather, and held a white hat, that looked like an old-fashioned fedora, in his hands. She was young, no more than 25, her hair braided tightly, dressed in jeans and an equally old-fashioned bomber jacket covered with badges and heavy boots, a backpack in her hands.

“Hello,” Nicolette called, walking slowly down the stairs.

“Good day Madam,” the man called, waving his hat. “I’m known as the Doctor, and this is my young friend Ace. We have some friends...”

“The Doctor...?” she began slowly.

“Ah. Yes. I realise you might have met a tall, skinny, young man in a brown suit going by the same name. It is his TARDIS we are interested in. Does that mean anything to you madam?”

Nicolette looked up the stairs to her two employees, and then down at the two mysterious visitors.

“Please, Sir, young lady, to come into my apartment. I will make some coffee and we can talk.”

*

Something about the man’s knowing, old, gentle, blue eyes reminded Nicolette of the other Doctor’s hazel ones, and she instantly trusted him. The woman was a soldier, and she was less comfortable with her. Nevertheless, she told them all about the day the strange blue box arrived, the terrible noise it made, and how she had watched, hidden, as the Doctor, in his long coat and spiked hair, had left with the Chinese man in the brightly patterned shirt and leather biker jacket, how their body language spoke of being a couple recently argued badly, how four days later the local police had arrived with the Chinese Consulate staff and Chinese military with a large black truck and the young Chinese man in handcuffs with a battered face. They had tried many ways to get the blue box off the roof, and finally ordered a crane. The whole neighbourhood had stood watching in the late evening twilight as it had been lifted from the roof and put in the truck, and then they had gone. They had claimed it was a terrorist device, that it stored the ingredients of a dirty bomb. The media had not run the story, and slowly people’s tweets and blogs vanished from the ’net. People shrugged their shoulders and went on with life, thankful they had been saved from whatever it was that the EuroCombine and Chinese governments, military, and police wanted to keep secret.

Three days after than, early in the morning, she had found the Doctor asleep on a pile of her black rubbish bags. He had been confused and afraid, and she had let him shower and fed him. She wanted to do more, give him money to help, but he refused. She was, at least, able to reassure him that his friend hadn’t betrayed him. He had said he was an alien and she believed him. The Chinese had put a prostitution chip into his wrist and the standard rose tattoo over the top. She wouldn’t be surprised if there hadn’t been extra tracking chips in there too. He had tried to dig it out but she explained the careful placing of it – next to the artery, and he had no doubt they had put it between the two arteries his species had in their wrist. When he left he planned to return to the Chinese Embassy in Brussels and see if he could find out where his space-time ship – the blue box – and his friend, Commander Chan Yu, - had been taken. That was all she could tell them.

She let the Doctor look on the roof, where the TARDIS had materialised. She didn’t accompany them. She had offered them some food, but the Doctor declined before Ace could say yes. Once on the roof he explained about rationing.

“A strong and proud woman, Nicolette,” the Doctor said, as he knelt down, running his hand over a square area of discoloured concrete and tiling. He took his pocket watch that Ace knew damn well was no such thing, from his top pocket and began to scan.

“Cut off from the Eye of Harmony. I’m not quite sure how she’s travelling, much less crossing the Void,” he muttered to himself.

Ace rolled her eyes, not interested. “Where next Professor?” she asked. It was cold and windy on the roof; to say nothing of the creepiness of the lack of sky, of the dark ash plume over her head, this high up, it felt oppressive and close.

The Doctor stood up. “Beijing,” he said. “Let’s find out more about my possible future’s companion.”

*

The Doctor changed his mind once back in the TARDIS and they materialised on a windswept coastline, concrete broken everywhere, a once great port crumbling to ruins. The other side of the cracked road were tents and containers and wooden huts, and people, so many people. Ace stood there, feeling like weeping. Those were her people, young British people who had grown up in multicultural cities, who did the Nativity and the story of Rama and Sita both at primary school, who went to neighbours Bar Mitzah parties and broke the fast during Ramadan with Muslim neighbours, who had friends of all colours and nationalities and religions and thought it was normal. Sure, there had been the racist dicks, but they were a dying minority when Ace had been blown up to Iceworld in a Time Storm, and had definitely been a tiny minority of Daily Mail reading old fogies whenever she had visited 21st century Earth with the Doctor in her own personal past.

The Doctor started walking, so Ace followed him, the New Jungle 1 Refugee Camp on their right, the sea, the shingle, and broken concrete on the shoreline on their left. The Channel was grey and stormy, the sky even darker and smoky, as this near to Iceland, the sky was thick with pumice and ash. Here she was, mourning her own people, but what of the Icelanders? Were they all dead?

They approached the crumbled ruins of what Ace guessed was the entrance of the Channel Tunnel. They finally built it, but then bombed it, by the looks of things. The Doctor stood looking at its crumbled, concrete and dust ruin. “Only 22 miles...” he muttered. “Something feels so wrong. It isn’t meant to be.”

Ace came and stood next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “If it feels wrong, then it’s out of phase. Do you think the other Doctor, pretty skinny boy, do you think he has anything to do with it?”

“No Ace. He’s noticed, but he has other things on his mind. He fell through the Void in a strange pan-dimensional wormhole, I think. I need more information. But he’s the Doctor – in whatever universe...!”

Ace started to laugh. “Or maybe he’s the mad nutter out to dominate and the Master is fixing things!”

The Doctor turned to stare at Ace, horrified, trying to hide the acceptance and concern that crossed his face at her suggestion. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped. He chewed his lip and ran the question mark handle of his umbrella over mouth in thought. “Perhaps. But unlikely. I can’t see the Master going through what he’s been through without a lot of bloodshed. He is a Time Lord. Although he seems weaker, physically I mean...” the Doctor shuddered and flipped his umbrella over and sprang it up, over them, as the drizzle had turned to heavy rain. “And no Ace, it isn’t him. I have a sinking feeling you are right, and we are looking at Mortimus’ handiwork again.”

“Doesn’t he ever stop meddling? What is this for, why? Anyway, I'd thought that Artemis would have fixed him good and proper! The...” Ace trailed off, not finding the words to describe the manic ex CIA agent, who meddled with time for fun, for whom sentient beings lives and fixed points in time meant nothing but toys to play with. “So...?” she began again.

The Doctor started to walk on, so Ace followed, catching him and linking arms to share his umbrella. She looked away from the sea to the camp of displaced British people, saw miserable, wet, people scurry for cover, unhappy, wet, people queue next to water and charge stations, charging devices or carrying crates of bottled water. They queued with resignation and calm, obviously British, Ace decided. She didn’t want to interact with the people here too much, as she had made that mistake before, she didn’t want them to become real, because if they could stop Mortimus in his tracks then they wouldn’t be here, they would be very different people in an economically successful, multicultural, open, global Britain at the heart of things. She looked away and back out to sea, the grey, choppy sea covered with a deep grey-black sky, the ash plumes and clouds heavier and darker and more oppressive than they had been in Paris.

Suddenly she noticed something, a small black spec on the sea, on the horizon, coming closer slowly, towards the beach.

“Look!”

The Doctor looked, and obviously saw something more that Ace with his keen Time Lord senses, as he started to run, calculating the trajectory on what Ace now realised was a tiny boat. Ace ran after him.

The boat came to shore a mile further on. The Doctor was already running into the cold sea to help pull it onto the shingle beach. Ace ran to the edge of the sea. She could see three refugees and what might have been a French police officer or soldier also running towards the beach from the camp. She met the Doctor and a man on the shoreline. He was white, no grey, thin with malnutrition, and had desperate eyes, dressed in sopping wet jeans and a ripped jumper. She heaved the boat up the shingle and away from the lapping waves, aware as she did so a woman was laid inside the small rowing boat, covered with what was probably her husband’s coat, and a soaking wet blanket. Blood was everywhere from between her legs down, on the coat, blanket and boat itself. Wrapped in a shawl in her arms was a tiny newborn, blue and most likely dead. Ace felt her eyes prickle as the Doctor lifted the baby.

“Asylum. Asylum,” the man said. “Izzy. We made it babe. Izzy. We’re safe.” the man stumbled onto the shingle and fainted. He’d been rowing for at least 22 miles Ace guessed, she couldn’t believe his determination. She stepped into the boat and pulled back the blanket and felt for a pulse on the woman’s neck. She looked at the Doctor, who had wrapped the baby up in his jacket and was rubbing its tiny limbs in-between performing infant CPR and breathing into its tiny mouth.

The refugees and the policewoman arrived, two Asian women climbing into the boat and pushing her aside.

“Why are you here Monsieur,” the French officer asked in accented English.

“Not now Nicole!” the woman in the hijab and red glasses snapped. “Postpartum bleed, we need to operate, and we need blood donors. Now!”

The tall black man stepped forward, and as gently as possible, lifted the inert woman from the boat. The other woman, dressed in leggings and a dress covered in a man’s large overcoat, her long plait hanging over the collar of the greatcoat, started to leg it towards the camp. Nicole, the officer, took out her radio and began to contact her control, asking in French for her to be connected to Medicine Sans Frontiers.

The Muslim woman turned to the Doctor. “Who are you? How’s the baby?”

“I’m the Doctor. Breathing, barely. I don’t know how long he had stopped. Hypothermia. His heart had stopped. He needs warmth and hydration. I estimate him to be 48 hours old at the most.”

“Come. I need help. You?” she turned to Ace. “Know your blood group?”

“Erm...?”

“I do,” the Doctor. “I can determine the patient’s much faster, too.”

*

The clinic was a large marquee tent. It was cold, the floor damp Earth, the beds camp beds. It was like something out of the Crimea or First World War. Maybe World War One was more apt, considering where they were. But that was over one hundred years ago. Ace was aghast. 

The Doctor had grossly tasted the half-dead woman’s blood and proclaimed it O positive and Ace was volunteered as donor and was lying on a camp bed next to the poor woman, as a saline IV was put into the patient’s other arm. There were a few other patients, their privacy almost non-existent, half shielded with old plain pale green plastic screens on wheels. Most were pot-bellied, listless eyed, children, mothers curled up in despondent heaps on the damp, cold, packed mud next to their beds. As a child Ace had seen pictures like that on John Craven’s Newsround, black kids in what seemed far away Africa, not English kids of all hues a few klicks from the British Isles.

The Muslim woman was the doctor in charge, and she and the Doctor worked on the woman, a screen hiding her lower half, where her placenta had not come away properly. She moaned a little in pain, but Ace could guess they had no local anaesthetics. The other woman, a Hindu Ace guessed from the bindi, was a nurse, and she was with the baby, wrapping him up, bringing a heat lamp to him, and getting an IV infant saline into his foot. As the wrappings were peeled back Ace could see the poor little thing was Downs Syndrome.

She could hear the French woman interview the man. The tall black man with the long greying dreads had handed him a cup of tea and now sat next to him on another camp chair, shoulder to shoulder, offering support silently.

“They would have killed him. Killed my baby. And let Izzy die. I had to. I had to. I had to. Asylum. Please. Asylum.” He repeated it over and over, as an answer to all questions asked, rocking slightly, the tea in his hands slopping over his wet trousers.

Eventually the French policewoman, Nicole, stood and patted the man’s back. “We will get your details later monsieur. Welcome to France and the EuroZone. Asylum is granted to all disabled children and their families.”

Ace’s eyes prickled again with angry tears. What had her country become? What had it become? If it was Mortimus she’d shoot the bastard, shoot the frog faced bastard in the face, over and over, until the evil bobsledding bilgebag ran out of fragging regenerations!

 

*

 

While the Doctor and Doctor Hussein worked on the woman, to save her life, the nurse on getting the newborn warm and hydrated, Ace, once they had her blood, went to sit with the father with a cup of tea, taking him another. Nicole was outside the tent, on her phone. The tall, older, man had also left, to talk to the housing officer, he had told Nicole.

“Hi. I’m Ace.”

The man looked up with empty eyes.

“Your girl and baby are gonna be fine,” she said, sitting down and holding out the tea. “Tea?”

He took the tea. “Josh,” he said. “I’m Josh.”

“Brave, rowing all that way.”

“What choice did I have?”

“Why, what would have happened?”

“Why do you ask!” Josh said, half-hysterical. “Where have you been? You sound English, like you’re from London.”

“Yeah. Perivale. But I’ve been travelling. Round the... world. For years now. Not been home since I was... dunno? Eighteen maybe?”

“Lucky. I suppose no one knows what is going on once you’ve left, anyway. They kill disabled kids when they’re born, they are a ‘burden’ like, take resources and can’t grow up to become hard-working people who serve the country. And there are rumours...”

“What rumours?”

“The National spam tins. And the National sausages... People aren’t allowed funerals anymore, waste of space and resources, the hospitals take care of the dead.”

“Bleeding Sweeney Todd? Is that what you’re saying. Excuse me!” Ace got up and stormed out, so angry she didn’t have the words, didn’t know how to let out the horror.

The Doctor watched Ace go, he had overheard the conversation, overheard all of the conversations, as he assisted Ayesha Hussein operate on young Izzy Miller. He left Dr. Hussein to finish up, peeled off the scrubs he’d pulled on over his suit and washed up, before walking over to young Josh.

“Your wife is fine, as is your son,” he said, sitting down and picking up Ace's discarded tea. “I’m sorry if my young friend upset you.”

“It’s okay,” the young man sat, hugging himself and rocking slightly.

The Doctor put his hand on the Josh’s shoulder. “You did a good and brave thing Josh. You’re safe now. You are all safe now.” He put his hand on Josh’s forehead. “Sleep now, there’s a good boy.”

Josh’s head dropped. The Doctor caught him as he slipped off the chair and carried him to an empty bed next to the cot where the now stable baby lay sleeping.

“Poor man,” Naveen the nurse said.

“What will happen now?”

“There will be immigration officers and social workers visiting, Nicole has sorted it. They will be given asylum papers and probably a tent somewhere, as the baby isn’t physically disabled, rather than a container or van. I think Winston is trying to find an empty container for them nearby. He’s a refugee rep; he’s good at dealing with the agencies. Once settled somewhere they’ll be given ration books and phone apps for water, food, heat, and device charging. Are you really called the Doctor?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s not a name, is it? Besides...”

“Yes?”

“Ayesha brought home a man calling himself the Doctor. He’d been badly injured in a beating or perhaps fallen down the stairs. Or maybe both, actually.”

“Tall? Skinny? Brown suit?”

Naveen nodded. “Yes, that’s him. We looked after him. I think about him sometimes, he was trying to...never mind...” Naveen stopped herself, realising probably that she would sound crazy.

The Doctor took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. “Find his space-time vehicle, were you going to say? I’m sure he will, with a little help. Thank you for looking after him. Now, I must go and find my young companion and calm her down. The situation in the UK is making her so angry.”

“Um... of course...” Naveen stumbled out as the Doctor left. Ayesha came up to her and linked arms, resting her tired head on her friend’s shoulders. “Who the hell was that?”

“I think he’s from the same planet as the Doctor. I think he’s looking for him. Maybe Doctor just means Traveller to them?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have saved Izzy without his help, even with yours, and then we’d have lost the baby. So for whatever reasons, I’m glad he was here. I was so worried how we would cope today with Dr. Fournier and the nurses all called to that planning meeting in Geneva. I was praying all night there wouldn’t be an emergency.”

“Want help bringing Izzy’s bed over to her husband and baby?” Naveen squeezed her friend’s shoulders tightly.

“Yeah. Then a cup of tea, I think.”

 

*

 

The Doctor found Ace on the beach, near where the TARDIS had materialized. She was throwing pebbles out to sea. There were unacknowledged tears in her eyes.

“There you are,” he said, coming up to stand next to her.

“’Right Professor?” she said.

“Perfectly Ace.”

“Sure.”

“I’m as fine as you.”

Ace snorted in disbelief.

“Cry!” he told her. “Let it out. You’re no use to me otherwise.”

So she did so, messily, leaning into his shoulder while he held her, feeling his tears wet her hair.

“We will sort this all, I promise. If I can. If this is our universe. If it isn’t, we don’t really have the right, do we?”

“We sort it Professor. If we can’t fix where time went wrong, we go over there,” Ace waved across the Channel in front of her, “and bloody well start a revolution. You’ve done it enough times on other planets.”

“Of course Ace. I will. TARDIS? Coming?”

Ace picked up one more stone and threw it, and, wiping the snot and tears with the back of her hands, followed the Doctor up the shingle to the concrete ruins of Calais’ port.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Ace alludes to a series of adventures she, Benny and the Doctor have in a succession of pocket universes, temporal bubbles, and time manipulations, cause by the Meddling Monk and his trapped, enslaved, Chronovore, Artemis (not that they know it until the fifth or sixth novel in the sequence). Ace frees her, then Artemis changes time, so Ace hasn't freed her at all. Except, Ace knows better. They were published throughout 1993 by Virgin New Adventures, and include the Left-Handed Humming Bird by Kate Orman, the first Doctor Who novel written by a women.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger warnings: near death of a disabled newborn baby, stress on near death, near death of a woman from a post-partum bleed, again stress it is near death. More of a tears warning.  
> Plus an icky/horror hints at cannibalism.


	6. Xichang, 24rd November 2023

The Doctor awoke to a woman sitting beside him, her hand on his arm, looking concerned. He pulled away abruptly and sat up straight, his glasses falling into his lap, running a hand over his face, surprised to find it not only wet with tears, but saliva, as if he had been drooling in his sleep. He coughed and hugged himself.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking at the woman, who looked at him with gentle kindness.

“I am sorry sir, but you were crying in your sleep. My daughter wanted to know you are okay,” she glanced back to the other end of the carriage, to the disabled little girl, out of her wheelchair and sitting on her father’s lap.

The Doctor nodded dumbly.

The woman reached out and touched his tattoo. “I know what that means. Yet you are a scientist, going to help us get to Mars and beyond. China is awesome, yes, to plan to mine the solar system and to save people like you from the evils of democracy and hatred?”

China is awesome. The same slogan yet again. He could argue that democracy wasn’t evil, but the least evil form of government in existence, but when it delivered figures full of bile and hatred, selfish individuals out for their own gain, manipulating the people with base hatred and xenophobia, when it killed itself through its own means, he didn’t feel like it. Besides, no doubt, those who really were head-hunted out of the camps probably signed away any rights to political arguments and thought, and accepted the Chinese way of doing things. And they were starving, so what right did he have to ruin it for the humans?

“Yes. China is awesome. We will get there soon. I need to get to Xichang and the space port, but I was mugged and lost my documents.”

“Xichang is eight hours from Chengdu. We are taking our precious flower to see the pandas.”

“Someone else said something about the pandas of Chengdu?” the Doctor asked politely, not really paying attention. He felt heavy and disorientated. Had he slept long? It was still daylight outside, his book was on the floor and his glasses had slipped off onto his jumper.

“There is the reserve and breeding programme. Please, come and join us, and we will show the brochures and books. My daughter would love to meet you; she has never met a foreigner before. But please...” the woman lowered her voice, “Don’t mention what they do to the disabled children in your country. I read a news report. It broke my very soul.”

The Doctor frowned, worried. What were the British doing to the disabled? Hadn’t Ayesha alluded to something? It was terrifying. He shook his head, “No, of course not,” he murmured, then grinned, “I’m the Doctor, by the way. Hello.”

“Hello. I am Fa Shi, my husband is Peng and my little one Min. Come, meet little Min, and she can tell you all about the pandas.”

“It would be my privilege Shi,” the Doctor smiled.

Shi touched the Doctor’s wrist as he placed his glasses and book on top of the bag. “It is good you can be a scientist again and not have to do that now. It is monstrous, to make refugees sell themselves in perverted ways. You are safe now Doctor, safe away from the evil. No wonder you have bad dreams.”

The Doctor faltered, sympathy mixed with homophobia and propaganda. But the intent was kindness, he knew. “Um. Yes,” he managed to get out.

Shi smiled and stood up and wobbled her way down the carriage, as the train turned slowly over several points. The Doctor followed.

*

The Doctor spent the rest of the day and early evening with the family, sharing their food. Soon Min adopted him as an honoury uncle and sat on his lap, pointing at mountains and rivers and forests and cities, at farms, tea plantations and rice paddies, at hydro-dams and solar farms and wind farms. She showed him pictures in her books and on her mother’s tablet of pandas, pandas, and more pandas. She explained, helped by her mother, a zoologist, all about the breeding programme, how they tricked the mothers to nurse both babies, so they had a double success rate with breeding. In the wild, mothers abandoned one twin, but the breeding centre workers swapped each baby over daily, giving the other bottled formula on the other day, distracting the mothers with bamboo when they swapped over. From there the young pandas went to nursery and then school, graduating into a wild reserve land, and finally disappearing to live a proper wild panda life. It had more than quadrupled the wild panda numbered in a decade, and now they were no longer endangered. The Chinese, he were told, were awesome, they learnt from their mistakes, and now did not take the bamboo from the pandas, and helped them come back from the brink, and in doing so, the reserves saved many other endangered plants and insects, including bees, who were dying in the West in frightening and threatening numbers. What they did for pandas, they did for bees, the tourists came to see the pandas, but they were safe now, but their money was saving the bees.

Min’s father was an engineer, and he pointed out all the clean energy facilities they shot past on the train. Only four years ago, the smogs in places like Beijing had been killing people, making it impossible to go out some days. Now the Chinese coal mines and power plants were all closed, and gas no longer imported. They were at nearly 90% green power and planned to be 100% by 2025, although they were ahead of schedule. The Indians should learn from them, he said. They were suffocating in high summer from smog and pollution, killing the poor in great numbers. There, the poor prayed every year for the monsoon to wash away the smog for a few months of blessed relief. Their trip to Mars came at great cost, unlike the Chinese, who with help from the likes of the Doctor, would beat them even if they launched later.

The Doctor looked out of the window, Min’s sleeping form a comforting weight on his lap, and looked at yet another wind farm thunder past, and wondered what he had been doing, why he had been suffering? He had a date and a name and a nationality in his head, a fixed point on who and what got to Mars and settled first. Did it matter? Who was to say human rights and freedoms were more important than the rights of the environment of the very planet? Free people in democracies demanded everything now, and didn’t care or understand the long-term effects, and the politicians needed their votes, as in the ‘long term, they were all dead’.

No, he was right not to give the Chinese all that he knew, humans obtaining faster than light equations, fusion reactor generator equations, gravity net and initial dampener theories, did not happen until the very end of this century and the beginning of the next. They got matter transportation first, and that was in TJ’s hands now. He had a duty to Time and he had learnt that the hard way. He was the last of the Time Lords, and he had to keep cause and effort and timelines and fixed points, such as was left after all the after and before effects of the Time War.

But this wasn’t his universe, was it? There was another Doctor to deal with it all.

But did that give him the right to play about more than whatever had already changed the timelines enough?

No.

“It’s all so beautiful,” he said aloud, watching the sunset over snow-capped mountains. 

“What is?” asked Shi, reaching out to take her sleeping daughter to put her in her buggy.

“China.”

“It is,” Shi grinned. “Thank you for helping keep our daughter entertained and still. When she is thrashing about she gets pains later. We will try to sleep now she is.”

The Doctor stumbled to his feet, his legs numb after the weight of a sleeping child had been there for a while, and a wriggly, excited, one for hours before that. “You’re welcome.” He swayed and weaved his way back to the other end of his carriage and grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom his end of the carriage to wash and change his socks.

When he came back the carriage lights had dimmed, and many of the passengers had pulled down the blinds. The tourists in the next carriage suddenly seemed noisy and took longer to settle down. The Doctor curled up under the provided blanket and read by his overhead light and listened to the clack clack of the wheels and the purr of the electric engines and the breathing of the sleeping Chinese around him until he too drifted back into sleep, thinking of Yu and hoping with all his hearts he was alive.

*

The Doctor dreamt and remembered, for once not remembering the recent journey through Europe, but an entirely different time in Europe.

“I travelled with Marco Polo,” he had said, he bounced across the Piazza San Marco in the sunlight, in the early fourteenth century. Yu had closed the TARDIS door and given him a look that said, ‘You’re bullshitting again Doctor.’ 

“No, really,” the Doctor had argued. “I was much younger then. Way way much younger. Although I looked older...”

Yu rolled his eyes and walked up to the Doctor. “Is this going to be one of those times we constantly have to explain my skin tone? Please not?”

“Why?”

“Europeans, they are so... parochial!”

“Ha! You can talk!”

“Humans then. Humans.”

“You can be a merchant, can’t you? Or a sailor? Or a pirate... yeah a pirate!”

Yu gave him a look that turned his insides to water, “You want me to dress up like a pirate...?”

“Little bit,” the Doctor grinned cheekily, blushing slightly under Yu’s intense stare.

Yu was about to say something, but then looked up at the church and span around, “Where is everyone? Why is it so quiet? I can’t even hear a single bird?”

“Um. Yeah, about that...” the Doctor clutched the back of his head as two armed men approached them furtively, gesturing to them, Yu protectively shoving him behind him...

... he was sliding out of consciousness, and Yu was pushing him behind his back and shouting and fighting and losing...

... there was rain on his face and he could hear seagulls and a woman was speaking,

“Hey? You okay? Did your pimp do that?”...

He was waking up tangled in red satin sheets, feeling bruised and abused and sore, inside and out, trying not to accept what had happened...

screaming, screaming, screaming, as he was held down over the bed, as he was...

... falling, falling...

*

Awake! Awake on the floor of a train carriage, a blanket tangled around his legs, a toy rabbit on his chest, two concerned faces peering down at him from the back of their bunk seats.

He looked up as the two businessmen on the bunks behind him snapped a light on. Two concerned faces looked over the back of the seat/bunk bed at him.

“Are you alright sir?”

The Doctor nodded mutely.

“You had a nightmare? I heard you speak to the mother of the crippled child. You have been through much before you came to China. Shall I make you some tea?”

The Doctor nodded again, trying to smile. The man stood, taking a teabag from his bag, and set off to the hot water dispenser in the communication corridor between their carriage and the tourist one. The other man, his colleague, walked around, and held out a hand,

“Do you need help getting up? Are you injured? I do not wish to touch without your permission,” he asked, adding the last piece with embarrassment.

“Thank you,” the Doctor managed, and held out his hand and allowed himself to be hauled up to his feet and guided to sit on his bunk. The businessman bent down and scooped up his rabbit with a smile.

“I made soft toys for the West as a student job,” he said, smiling. “Many factories closed down when the American economy collapsed. The European downturn affected production too. Many of my work colleagues are still unemployed, sadly. I was lucky; I had studied hard. But not everyone is blessed with brains, are they? What can we do for them? I am hoping to... Ah, here is Lan with your tea.”

The Doctor took the tea and smiled again, ashamed. “Thank you. You are so kind. I am sorry I woke you.”

“No matter. I hope you sleep well. We are still three hours from Chengdu. We can work.”

The Doctor spent three hours reading and trying not to think, the whispered conversation planning a factory to make toy pandas for the tourists going on behind him. Hi-Fi had a little ticket on his leg that read ‘made in Chengdu’ he suddenly remembered. Was this factory of the two men going to succeed for centuries, or just a coincidence? He wished Steven was with him, Steven would look after him...

He nodded off again, dreaming of his head resting on Steven’s shoulder while Dodo was talking about real pandas freeze-dried in the Ark, his glasses slipping from his face and his book and the toy rabbit falling onto the floor...

The churning of his stomach awoke him, and he barely registered the daylight or the bustle of people, nor the houses flashing past the window, as he rushed to the bathroom and was violently sick yet again. This was getting ridiculous!

 

*

 

It was almost eight thirty in the morning when the Beijing train pulled into Chengdu Station, the ending of the rush hour. Huge flat screens showed moving pictures of incredibly cute baby pandas while others told the commuters China was awesome and would get to Mars and the asteroid belt and mine the minerals for the people. Posters advertised films and products. The tourists were led in an unruly crocodile of elderly Africans and Antipodeans, and the business people rushed off. The Doctor paused to help the Fas with the special large wheelchair-buggy and their luggage, and wished Min joy of the pandas and then slowly shuffled among the thinning crowds, not wanting to draw attention to himself, which, when he was milk white and almost a foot taller than most people, was more than a little difficult. He fingered his passport in his pocket, ready for any questions. He marvelled at the Master’s wisdom and preparation, making him a Chinese citizen and a scientist on the passport. But then, Koschei always over thought and over planned everything. You could never just build a train set, bake a cake, or go on an impromptu picnic, with the girls without him making such a fuss over homework and meal times and appropriate food for growing time tots.

Why was he thinking of such things? He never allowed himself to think of such things, from when he left Gallifrey, and after meeting the Master when he had been exile it had become an important rule, an even more vital one post the Time War...

Such a credit to their kindergarten and the Prydonian Chapter and Academy, such perfect uncurious Time Ladies, not like his granddaughter...

He put his hand to his face, which was wet with tears. How many children Doctor, how many Gallifreyan children? Three of those were centuries old, his own, his and Koschei’s own... 

How angry the Master had been, how violent, how disturbed, how loud the drums, how contemptuous of him he had been, even when raping...

He was going to be sick again!

*

An hour later he sat in a Teabucks, the Chinese equivalent to the West’s Starbucks, drinking sweet green tea slowly and tried to convince himself that his vomiting was indeed functional, he did indeed disgust himself. He was shaking and had to hold the tiny teacup in both hands. He had enough current rape traumas to process; he had dealt with what the Master put him through, the aged body, the rapes, the mind games, the watching Martha’s family enslaved and Jack tortured. It was locked in a box in his mind. When it had leaked a little, Donna had been there. Donna had helped.

He missed Donna like a constant pain, even Yu had only smothered it, not healed it.

He had to rescue Yu; he owed him so much.

He had enough Yen left for a basic seat on a train to Xichang and a little left over for a bus or tram to get nearer to Base 27 when he found in which direction he needed to go. The train to Xichang would take just over eight hours. After three weeks travelling through Europe, and two days in China, with at least another two to get to the secret base, plus the four unaccounted days in Chinese hands in Brussels, drugged and probably experimented on, although he still had no recollection at all, just a fuzzy memory of slipping unconscious while Yu was fighting to protect them; he had been separated from Yu for month. In all that time, what had they done to Yu? Torture? Execution? Harvested his organs? Was he too late? Was Anton right; was Yu in the same place as the TARDIS? That information was now two weeks old, almost, was it still valid? They had tracked him twice in Poland through the chip in his wrist? Was he in fact, walking into a trap, sick and broken and traumatised and alone?

Step into my parlour, said the spider to the fly...

Yeah, alright, I will, even if you eat me. I have no other choice. I need to know that Yu and the TARDIS are still safe. Why can’t I feel the old girl? Why?

 

*

An hours later, his stomach settled at least, the Doctor boarded the fast train to Xichang, with a bowl of noodles and egg and a large takeaway tea, as well as a bottle of iced tea and one of water, along with some packets of nuts and a couple of oranges. He wanted some sweets, but Chinese people didn’t really have such a sweet tooth as Westerners or Africans. He smiled as he walked down the carriage, nodding to those who openly stared at him, muttering occasionally, as needed,

“China is awesome, they gave me a job at the space port, China is awesome, they saved me. China is awesome, they gave me citizenship so I can be a scientist again.” It stopped the hostile and curious stares, at least.

After he found a seat he slowly ate his noodles and sipped his tea, and then he leant his face on the window and closed his eyes, the mountains and river valleys and forests and towns all whipping past unnoticed. The carriage played opera music, and was half empty. Some genuine scientists talked quietly behind him about, what sounded like, Yu’s gravity bounce equations. They didn’t seem to understand them. But as he half-dozed he noticed they also mentioned a village ten miles north west of the spaceport, a bus they must catch to be met by the military, the following morning. He guessed happily that the group were Base 27 bound.

*

When he arrived there was, in fact, two Xichangs. One, centuries old, full of decaying, unmaintained, and overgrown, pagodas and temples and parklands, along with rickety, mud-brick, ancient slums, the second a tall, gleaming space city of steal and glass towers, maglevs and monorails serving the outer edges. It was already dark, and he was so tired. He looked for a backpackers hostel, but soon realised he was not going to find one, as Xichang was definitely off the tourist track, and any non Chinese person was either a naturalized citizen like he was posing to be, or a representative of a government space agency or foreign space business interest.

In the end he found a bus station at the end of the old town, or the beginning of the new town, at the end of the maglev line. He remembered the bus number, and realised that for safety’s sake, he shouldn’t travel on the same one as the group of scientists, as he would attract their suspicion. Alone, he could tell any curious locals that he was bound for the base and was being met, as they said they were being. As it was the commuters, the working people, school and college students, elderly returning from shopping, they all trusted their internal security system too much and assumed that yes, he had been head-hunted and was secret base bound, and it wasn’t worth their own safety to mention they knew of its existence.

 

*

 

The journey was almost two hours long, and it was growing very late by the end of the line, the village nestled at the foot of the forested steep mountain slope. He ached again in his back and legs, and felt sick and feverish and exhausted beyond imagining. He got off the bus last and headed across the street to a small alleyway that no one else went to, trying desperately to look like he knew where he was going to. He regretted it as soon as he was off the main street, and there were no street lights and it was so dark in the shadow of the mountain.

Someone was in the shadows and darkness, leaning on a wall and stood before him. The Doctor flinched, trying to hide his fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RL is being particularly cruel this year - January my house was broken into and trashed, I'd just recovered from that when I had four leaks and the furniture had to be moved and stuff packed away. (Yesterday the heating packed up. The side panel off my wheelchair fell off as I crossed the road. My stairlift has broken and been condemned which means intrusive reassessments from social services to get another one. )I have few mental and physical spoons as it is, and somewhere over the last few months my hard copy of this chapter full of my proofs vanished - so please, if anyone spot a typo, let me know and I will correct it. I am trying not to freak about it being left in the hotel room or in Starbucks or on the train as we went back and forth to sort out the house over January!!!! I am so desperate for the time, space and health to finish this before I get to the last written chapter... I will do my best x


	7. A village near Xinchang, 25th November 2023

Once they were in the TARDIS the Doctor set the coordinates, glancing at Ace, and muttering to himself.

“Where to now? Future you or frog face Mortimus?” Ace demanded.

“I need to know if it is me, Ace, and you know, he seems to need help. Ayesha and Naveen took him in and helped him heal. He was dumped here by the Chinese, this was the start of his journey.”

“I’m not thick, I worked that out. But I’m glad Ayesha and Naveen sorted him. They’re both great women, don’t you think?” Ace looked down at herself, mud, ash, dust, and blood, set with dried saltwater from the sea. “I’m gonna shower and change.”

“Put your combat suit on, will you?”

Ace paused by the door, stunned. “What?” she questioned, uncertain she'd heard correctly. The Doctor hated it.

“We’re going to get some information for the other Doctor, we’re going to beard the dragon in its den.”

“What? You know what, never mind. You might want to change that suit. It’s covered in blood.”

The Doctor looked down at himself and nodded sadly, then hung his head as soon as Ace left, leaning heavily on the telepathic circuits, the pain and fear and memories of rape and men using his body that he had picked up as he touched the other Doctor’s mind still haunting him along with the anger and shock at not only was the UK a fascist, racist, undemocratic, state, it was so isolated it was resorting to cannibalism to keep its remaining population alive. He thought they had dealt with Mortimus, he had already had a go at changing time in the twentieth century; trapping him in his own TARDIS with the Chronovore Mortimus had previously enslaved, exacting her revenge. A messy but just end to the Monk's harmful meddling. Or so he thought. However, he thought he, Ace, and Benny had chased him away from Earth, at least. He had a suspicion that Ace’s instincts were spot on, she was getting better at spotting (other) renegade Time Lords than he was. Right now though he had a vague idea where everything went wrong for the United Kingdom and the United States – a referendum in Britain manipulating people with lies and xenophobia and fear, which emboldened those in the Presidential election to do more of the same, to realise they could win, they just had to keep ramping up the fear and hatred and blame with bolder and bolder lies. And grinning in the background to both polls was the city banker turned politician whom Ace called frog face and believed to be Mortimus. The Doctor was almost too worried to look into his background to see if it could be Mortimus, or another Time Lord. Magnus perhaps? Not the Master, not his style at all, a far too long game to play, surely, faking a human past and playing politics...

 

*

 

It was night time across China, and the mountains of Sichuan were eerily lit by moonlight. The Doctor had decided to take a look on the outside, as he didn’t know the exact coordinates, but intended to materialize inside. The forest grew up the side of the mountains, a small track way led to an old village of pagoda roofed houses and a temple and school, terraces of rice paddies and vegetable plots climbing the side in giant steps. Further down one could see the lights of Xichang, the modern city towering over the old imperial town, beyond that the lights on the spaceport on a huge valley plain at the base of the other mountain range, over-looking the river valley. It was beautiful, peaceful, ancient and modern and nature in harmony, yin and yang, balanced in perfection. He could be on the mountains above his home, sitting under the silver trees, looking across the red-grass plains and tenant farm building and then desert and beyond to the Capitol covered by its glowing weather shield.

He was washed over by a painful wave of homesickness that just didn’t feel right, wasn’t really him at all. He could go home if he wanted, anytime. He was contemplating it, contemplating enrolling and sponsoring Ace in the Academy in the Prydonian Chapter. He suspected she would stare right into the Untempored Schism without blinking, daring it to stare back at her.

He smiled wryly. Spill over from the contact in Beijing’s Main Station. But this War... this Time War... It required some thought and worry. And possible prevention. Dear Ace, she had no idea how he was sharing his feelings to a great extent, and no more would she, not now at least...

Perhaps destroying Skaro had been a mistake? A shot across the bows? But then again, as far back as in his fifth incarnation, the Supreme Dalek had tried torturing him for information with a plan to use duplicates of himself and his companions to invade Gallifrey. In which case, he was not to blame, unless his making Daleks aware of Time Lords was the trigger. And that could not be helped, all those people throughout several galaxies he had saved at one time or another from Dalek invasion, enslavement or genocide. One thing he was sure, his future self would shield any information at all costs, it was only because he had been both so emotionally vulnerable and physically unwell, as well as having no idea another Time Lord, another version of himself, was just outside that public bathroom door.

“Don’t jump Professor!” Ace said, striding into the console room, dressed in full armour and armed to the teeth. “Wicked! When could you do that?”

“M’mm?” the Doctor looked up from where he was sitting on the floor by the open door, his legs dangling out of the TARDIS.

Ace gingerly lowered herself and sat next to him. “This is seriously wicked!”

“I wasn’t sure if this was possible, I just had the idea, checked the databanks, and as long as we’re in space-time-”

“What, even space?”

The Doctor laughed gently, “Yes, the TARDIS extends an atmosphere shell. I really had no idea. And it is... wicked. Somewhere down below, is a secret base.”

“Well, pretty as all that is, let’s use the console to track for any signs. Metal. Radio transmissions. Doors.”

“I was just admiring the view. China got so many things wrong in the last century, and it's not ideal now, but it gets so much right. Nature, history, and modernity, seamlessly laid out.”

“Are there pandas down there?” Ace asked, sounding almost like his young Ace of years before, like an excited child.

“No doubt Ace. I had a friend once, he had a toy panda as a mascot.”

“Child, was he?”

“No Ace. He was in Space Fleet – your adopted century. A Dalek Killer – well in theory, it was post-war and he crashed. He was imprisoned for years, totally alone, which his why his childhood toy became so important. Brave, noble and kind, my Steven.”

“Another Jamie?”

The Doctor looked at Ace and sadly shook his head, “Oh no Ace, this was my aging loom body, wearing far too thin for a human as young and lovely as Steven to look at me.”

Ace laughed and hugged the Doctor tightly, nearly knocking him out of the open door and plunging to his death below, “Did you have an unrequited crushette, then Professor?”

“Possibly.” The Doctor leapt to his feet and rushed inside, leaving his cup of tea on the floor. “Come on then, let’s scan for some kind of entrance.”

 

*

 

There were three entrances that the Doctor found. A helipad with doors that let the choppers descend into the base through an ancient rice paddy terrace, a metal doorway in the side of the mountain that was equally huge and had train tracks running into it. And a third doorway, big enough to let a small off-road vehicles or humans on foot a mile west of the helipad and train station/dock.

They chose the train port and materialised inside an empty cargo container on a detached flatbed. All was dark when they came out of the TARDIS. The Doctor struck an ever-lasting match, and the light flickered, causing eerie shadows in the container. No one reacted so Ace went to the open door. Four rail tracks led to a turntable and several more led off to buffers. There were no guards and no platforms. Two cranes sat by one set of buffers. There was one engine and several cargo containers and empty flatbeds but no carriages for people. She turned back to the Doctor and put her thumbs up, and switching on the torch function of the wristcomp, jumped down, immediately pulling out her gun for security.

The Doctor landed silently as a cat beside her. “Put that away,” he snapped angrily, batting her gun down with his brolly. “Gives the wrong impression if we’re caught.”

“Okay, okay,” Ace rolled her eyes but holstered her arms. She shone the torch around, marvelling at the engineering, the chamber was huge, hollowed out of the mountain and coated in concrete and metal struts. This was some operation. She felt it was old, too, going back to the Cold War if not before.

“Looks like an exit there,” the Doctor pointed, and then pulled out a large torch from his capacious pockets. “Come on,” he began picking his way over the tracks.

The door to the complex was a key card swipe lock, and it took Ace’s wrispcomp several minutes to unscramble the servos and locks. The Doctor stood patiently, shining the torch for her, umbrella swinging on his arm.

The other side was off-white painted concrete corridors, low-level red lighting set for the night time. The Doctor turned left and set off abruptly, bouncing up a flight of stairs. Ace ran after him and walked in front of him, for protection.

“What are we looking for?” she asked, following him out into an identical corridor a flight up.

“Ideally somewhere safe and quiet with an access point to their computer records. I don’t want to be found out at all costs.”

Ace’s eyes flicked to the ceilings and walls, but she didn’t see a single CCTV camera. Obviously they trusted their own external security and secret location. The lack of democracy and freedom had obviously left them sloppy. They assumed that there was no way a foreign spy could have made it this far. Besides, back in Ace’s day, the Russians and the West, especially America, all posed and puffed and faced off, and China was left to its own devices and ignored. Seemed they had been busy.

“Ah,” Ace heard the Doctor mutter, so she stopped and turned around. There was a small office overlooking the train docks. He sat down at a terminal and stretched and clicked his fingers and hit the on button. The screen woke up and flashed fast as the Doctor found his way in and sped-read the information he wanted. 

Ace wandered about and looked out of the large window over the buffers and cranes. There was a red container to one side, hidden away from the other two sets of buffers, the door open, a ramp leading up to it. And on either side of it, two young male soldiers, looking bored and half asleep. They were hidden at an oblique angle and their view of the main dock was in shadow or blocked to them.

Ace breathed out an audible sigh of relief.

“What?” asked the Doctor.

“We had a narrow escape Professor, two guards, over there.”

The Doctor stood and craned his neck. “Ah. Yes. That will be his TARDIS. We need to be quieter on the way back. You’re right; we were very lucky. Boys look bored and not expecting anything, thankfully. But forewarned is forearmed. Well-spotted Ace. And useful information for him, too.”

“How do you know it’s the TARDIS?”

The Doctor sat back down and tapped the screen. “Guard the door, we don’t know who else is up and about,” he said as Ace peered over his head at what he was reading. It looked like some very detailed biological stats on Time Lord anatomy.

“Interesting,” she heard him mutter as she walked back to the door.

 

*

 

The Doctor took almost twenty minutes, twenty minutes of Ace flipping from bored to her heart in her mouth as every metaphorical pin drop made her think they were being discovered.

But they weren’t, and five minutes later they were scrambling up into the container and back into the TARDIS, having been in the base just over half an hour. The Doctor immediately began tinkering with key cards and a spare TARDIS key and the console. She debated asking him what he was doing, but could hear the ‘quiet Ace, I’m working’ as if he had spoken aloud to her own curious thoughts.

“Maybe you should rest Ace, after I’m done here it’s time we met Benny, don’t you think?” the Doctor said as he seemed to be pointing a soldering iron at the metal key as it rested on a small pocket sized phone of some kind.

“We telling her we’ve been gone nearly two days?”

“Not yet, we need to understand a bit more. I have another job for her, though.”

“I’ll nap here, then,” Ace flopped into the armchair the Doctor had sat in while she had been following the other Doctor in Paris. “Take it you’re helping him get in then, then?”

“Of course,” the Doctor replied, before yelping as he burnt his fingers. He turned to Ace, sucking his fingers. “If you’re not actually sleeping,” he mumbled around them, “make some fresh tea.”

Ace grinned and put her thumb up, before getting to her feet.

 

*  
Ace had fallen asleep in the chair. The Doctor sat cross-legged on the floor with his back to her and the tea table, a half finished cup beside him, and egg and cress sandwich in his hand, which he occasionally nibbled on, as he surveyed his handiwork before him spread out on the floor. The TARDIS key ought to provide a little camouflage, that was, it worked in theory, to piggy-back off the chameleon circuit and use the base’s own wireless radio waves from their telecommunications and entertainments. The key card he hoped was programmed as a skeleton for all doors in the base, including the cells. He had found the location of Commander Chan Yu, a very intelligent and creative young fellow, by his files, and talented, as well as quite personable to look at. His probably future self had quite a companion there. Or rather, far more than only a companion.

Although poor Mr Chan was not in a good way right now, half-starved and repeatedly tortured, he was not faring much better than his Doctor.

Satisfied as he could be that his little hacks for getting into Base 27 would work, the Doctor put down his tea, finished his sandwich, put the keys in his pocket, stood and went to the console and set the coordinates for a few miles south and a few hours back.

 

*

The TARDIS materialized in a dark alley behind a row of traditional pagoda building, mostly shop fronts and workshops. This was rural China, not tourist or modern China. The air smelt of the forest behind, of wood chippings, chicken droppings, and the delicious aroma of many suppers being cooked. The Doctor could see the road ahead, lit by sodium lamps and purple in the twilight. He leant on the wall of the butchers, propping himself with his umbrella, and waited.

Eventually the bus came trundling up the road and pulled to a stop. Many people alighted, young men and women in the modern universal of dark suits and shirts, old ladies in traditional Sichuan garb carrying shopping, tired children in their school uniforms and satchels, then finally a tall white man, who might have been mistaken for a Westerner, but in fact was loom born from the south of his own planet, looking as tired as the schoolchildren and working people returning home from a day in the modernity of Xichang. He looked about him nervously, shouldered the travel bag, and then struck off down the alley, trying to look like he knew where he was going and where he was. The very last of the dark blue and purple left the sky and the stars came out. The Doctor watched his possible future look up and smile, taking in the enormity of the sky, of the stars, all of which had been denied him to look at while stuck in Europe and denied him to travel for far too long. 

Well, he was going to stop that right now and get him reunited with his TARDIS, at least. And if that failed, he had a back-up plan forming in his mind. He needed to just point Benny in the right direction when they went back to her. He pulled his fedora low on his face, and leaning heavily on the handle of his umbrella, he stepped forward and blocked the other Doctor’s path.

The tall skinny Doctor, this echo from the future, from another dimension, paused and took a step back nervously, pulling his long black trench coat about himself.

The Doctor pulled one hand away from the red question mark handle of his umbrella and raised his hand, dangling a chain from his fingers in front of the other Doctor.

“You’ll be needing this,” he said.

Without a word the other Doctor held out his hand and the chain, with the TARDIS key attached, poured into his palm.

The Doctor wondered at his silent complicity and unquestioning obedience, but he did look tired and pale. “And this,” he said, and with a flick of his wrist, a key card appeared from behind the Doctor’s ear, which he handed to him. “You know where she is now?” he asked, meaning the TARDIS.

“Oh yes,” he replied, nodding.

“Just in case, here is a map with the location of both her and him,” the Doctor said, pulling out a note on pink paper and handing it to the tall, other, Doctor. Again, he took it without a word. Still unnerved by the silence and lack of curiosity and discussion, the Doctor went on, “Good. Then rescue your boyfriend and your TARDIS and go. Leave the rest to me. This is my universe, its Time is my business.” He stepped forward and tipped his hat back and looked up, smiling a sinister snaggle-toothed beam. “You know who I am Doctor?” he checked, still worried by the very unDoctory behaviour coming from the older Doctor.

“Oh yes Doctor, you’re Time’s Champion. But we’ve met already, in Moscow...” he replied emptily, nodding slightly.

The Doctor frowned, worried at his future self’s passivity and silent mood, as well as confused by the reference to Moscow, and looked up inquiringly.

“Oh. Of course, never one for linear plans, was I? If you’re sure...?” the older Doctor added cryptically at his worried face.

Ah, thought the Doctor, either he has worked out I was Bernard, or more likely, I’m going to meet up with him further back on his journey. So he replied, “Perfectly Doctor,” adding, because he couldn't resist not to, “Don’t trouble your pretty head further.”

“Hey!” the other Doctor was suddenly annoyed and more animated in his wan, young-looking, face.

But the Doctor didn’t reply, he had stepped back into the shadows and vanished. When he re-entered the TARDIS a few moments later, he found Ace was awake and had been watching him on the scanner.

“What was that about then?”

“A means of getting in, a means of concealment, and the location of his TARDIS and companion. You’re awake Ace, let’s go back for Benny, shall we?”

“Not yet,” Ace tapped the scanner. The Doctor peered over her shoulder. A gate opened at the other end of the side street and a man came out, leading a white horse wearing saddle and bridle, and approached the other Doctor. “Don't we know him?” she added, peering at the screen intently.

“Ah,” said the Doctor nodding, and set the coordinates for four hours back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, as a bonus I will try to post a chapter or two over this weekend. Thing is, a week today my daughter has been called in for another Atos PIP assessment. Last time the appeal took forever and destroyed my health. as the Lewis fen - they had to wait so long for me to continue posting. so you have been warned, I may fall to pieces, more likely, she will fall to pieces and use up all my spoons then some. but hey, could be worse, we could both end up as national sausages and spam! Anyway, just a warning that there may be a hiatus after this weekend of binge posting...sorry :(


	8. The foothill of the mountain and a horse, 25th November 2023

The Doctor was regretting getting the bus at night, much less going down this dark alley in an the old Chinese town. A man was leaning on the wall in shadow, leaning forward on the handle of his umbrella, his fedora pulled low over is face. The Doctor flinched as the man moved slightly, lifting his head, his face still hidden in the shadow of the hat. The Doctor stepped forward, nervously; something was wonderfully familiar and powerful about this figure. As he stepped into the shadow towards him one hand shot out from the red handle, a chain dangling from his fingers,

“You’ll be needing this,” the other Doctor said. He remembered overhearing him tell Ace he had already met him in China. This must be it.

The Doctor held out his hand and the chain, with the TARDIS key attached, poured into his palm.

“And this,” with a flick of his wrist, a key card appeared from behind the Doctor’s ear, which he handed to him. “You know where she is now?” Ace's Doctor asked sternly. 

“Oh yes.” The Doctor crossed his fingers though, just in case Anton’s Intel was wrong or out of date.

“Just in case, here is a map with the location of both her and him,” the younger Doctor said, pulling out a note on pink paper and handing it to him. The other Doctor then nodded and said, “Good. Then rescue your boyfriend and your TARDIS and go. Leave the rest to me. This is my universe, its Time is my business.” He stepped forward and tipped his hat back and looked up, smiling a sinister snaggle-toothed beam. “You know who I am Doctor?”

The Doctor suddenly felt cold with the power and goodness of the man, all that energy and strength in such a short man. He didn’t remember being quite so powerful and scary. Time’s Champion indeed, Destroyer of Worlds. He also really was shorter than he remembered. Shorter on the outside. “Oh yes Doctor, you’re Time’s Champion. But we’ve met already , in Moscow...”

His younger self held up his hand, scowling. The Doctor bit his lip. Oh yes, not yet...

“Oh. Of course, never one for linear plans, was I? If you’re sure...?” he said, smiling down at himself.

“Perfectly Doctor. Don’t trouble your pretty head further.”

“Hey!”

But the Other Doctor, Time’s Champion, had stepped back into the shadows and vanished.

The Doctor stood there a moment, examining the key, the TARDIS key, hanging on a chain, and also the key card, which he trusted to get him into the base. He didn’t look at the map as it was too dark to read. He assumed it was directions to the base, and perhaps the very locations of the TARDIS and Yu. He still had to find somewhere to bed down, he was dead on his feet, and it was growing pitch black, and there was no way he wanted to walk out of the village and into the dark forest until after dawn. He sighed and continued to walk forward into the darkness, trusting this other universe’s Doctor to have done something, as like Koschei, this Doctor made plans. After a few metres a gate opened and an elderly man walked towards him, leading a white horse saddled and tacked.

“You will be needing this, young man,” the man said, placing the reins in his hand. “You will find an empty barn to the west of this street, at the edge of the village. You can rest there. In the morning take the track way due northeast, up the mountain. I am told you have a map after that. When you arrive, leave her in safety nearby and she will be fetched. There are food and blankets in her panniers. Her name is Khanna.”

“Thank you,” the Doctor said, startled, but the man was already walking away, back to his gate to his property. The Doctor stood there, stunned, but Khanna nuzzled his cheek gently, brining him into focus. “Yes, you are right, time to go,” he replied, as if she had spoken, and started leading her down the alley.

After a while, he heard the sound of dematerialisation as the accompanying wind of time and space ripped apart stirred the leaves and branches of the evergreens and the bare branches of the willows, as well as the dust beneath his feet and Khanna’s hooves. He was alone again.

 

*

The barn was a little out of the village, looking as if it has seen better days, a broken green pagoda’s roof falling into the middle, a few ancient broken farm machinery in one end, a pile of hay and sacking, both slightly rotting, the other. The Doctor took down the bags and saw to Khanna, taking off her saddle and finding a blanket, which he threw over her after petting her and talking nonsense to her. She nuzzled at him and kissed his head, then tossed her own, pointing at the other bags.

There were blankets enough for him too, and the Doctor made himself a bed and curled up, taking out the rabbit from his pocket, where he had put her on the Chengdu train, not wanting to risk losing her. The coat was the only Gallifreyan made clothes left, the only pockets he had left that were transdimensional. His jeans pockets were ridiculously small.

The man, whoever he was, had packed a feast, all in cardboard boxes and cups with lids. There was cold noodles, omelette, and fried rice with vegetables and tofu, along with soya milk, and tinned lychees with a tin opener. No longer at all sick, but starving hungry, the Doctor ate it all gratefully, saving nothing for breakfast. He’d have to eat the nuts and oranges he’d bought in the station for that, he decided. Once he’d eaten, he cleaned his teeth, where he was, spitting out on the ground beside him, and then snuggled up in the blankets with the rabbit, and was soon sound asleep, his unnatural exhaustion once again getting the better of him. He was too tired to even wonder at it at all. 

Khanna slept standing, standing alert, guarding her strange smelling charge. It looked human, but didn’t smell like one. She couldn’t even decide if it smelt male or female. But her human had trusted her with it, so she would stand guard and watch as it whimpered and murmured in its sleep.

 

*

In the morning the Doctor was awoken by Khanna’s nuzzles and hot sweet breath on his face. He opened his eyes and looked into her soft brown ones.

“Good morning Khanna,” he whispered. “How are you? I’m fine. Maybe you want to get some grass outside?” Khanna understood the strange creature more than a human, so she wandered a little out of the barn and plucked on some sweet grass and meadow flowers the other side of the muddy track way. She listened out for her charge though.

The Doctor felt fine for a while, after he first woke up, but then the nausea and vertigo hit him again. It was quite a while before he was able to travel. However, he put his enforced lie-in to good use and soon worked out that the TARDIS key was working as some kind of chameleon camouflage, almost the same as he had used to evade the Master with Jack and Martha, except then he had used the Archangel satellites low level telepathy fields, whereas he had no idea what this was piggy backing on – not his own TARDIS, she still seemed to be removed somehow from this space-time?

Once he was fairly confident he could move without vomiting, he relieved himself, rolled up the blankets and put them and the rubbish in the panniers, saddled Khanna and mounted her, ignoring the groan of pain which escaped, and the pain itself in the long muscles of his legs and his lower back and hips. He leaned forward and nuzzled his own face into Khanna’s neck. “Let’s go,” he whispered, sitting back up and holding the map in his left hand, the reins and his toy compass in his right, gently kicked to tell her to move.

The journey took all day. The Doctor grew more and more sore, although the gentle movement of her slow trot was also lulling and soothing in its way, rhythmic and almost hypnotic. He ate in the saddle, once he felt hungry, handfuls of cashews and mouthfuls of orange segments, and drank cold tea. He let Khanna stop to eat grass and drink from clear gushing streams more than once. He filled his own plastic tea bottle up with spring water. All was silent but for the sounds of birds and insects, the occasional sound of the undergrowth broken by the footsteps of a small animal. Once he thought he saw a panda through the trees.

Eventually, as the sky was turning lilac in the twilight and the last red rays for the sun was sinking on the horizon, he found a natural clearing, and just beyond that a concrete clearing and two doors in the hillside, one the size of a large car, another human sized.

“I’m here Khanna,” he whispered. He slipped off her and led her back into the forest. “Well, I was told to leave you here and you’ll be fetched. We have to trust it won’t be long. Look after yourself Khanna dear,” he said to the horse, and kissed her nose, before shouldering his own bag, and slipping the TARDIS key around his neck and pulling the skeleton key card from his pocket. “Here goes. Wish me luck!”

Khanna whinnied and nicked at his hair, before stomping a hoof and turning to move further under the bamboo and trees. The Doctor strode forward and swiped the lock. With no fuss at all he was in, inside a dark corridor, the lights at a low setting. He fished through his coat pockets for the second map and set off, hopefully in the direction of the TARDIS. Once he had her he could just materialise around Yu, and finding him would be a lot easier. Cheating, he supposed, stepping in and out of Time, but quite frankly, the way he had been treated was cheating, and it wasn’t even his universe.

Whatever the other Doctor has done, the TARDIS key was working, and he slipped past staff several times without them even noticing. He walked for maybe a mile through the endless maze of corridors and staircases, following the intricately drawn map, to another entrance to the base, the main train depot deep under the mountain, and soon he saw it, a guarded apparently empty container. Except he knew it only looked empty, he could feel it calling, half a second out of phase in time and space, his TARDIS. Taking a deep breath to centre himself, he put a foot forward and walked down into the vast area of trains and flatbeds and rails, stepping over the rails and walking to the dark corner. There was no one about apart from the two bored looking young guards, one was yawning, the other was picking his teeth. It was late, perhaps just gone nine o’clock, the Doctor estimated.

The Doctor slipped past the guards and saw they were indeed protecting nothing more than a flatbed with an open red cargo container on it, but she called to him. He climbed the ramp and reached out, half expecting to touch his TARDIS, but his hand  
went through air. But he sensed her. She was there, she was, but just half a second or two out of phase, of that he had no doubt. Without thinking, he pulled the other Doctor’s TARDIS key off from around his neck and suddenly there was pandemonium, guards shouting, rushing feet, the click of safeties being taken off guns. With a sigh at his own stupidity, the Doctor turned and raised his hands.

“Okay. It’s a fair cop guvs. I’ll come quietly. Take me to your leader.”

Two soldiers stepped forward, each taking an arm, and led him down the ramp, to where another, an officer, stood. He pulled the key and chain out of the Doctor’s hand. “The Doctor? Yes?” he demanded.

The Doctor nodded. “Where’s Commander Chan Yu?” he asked. The soldiers looked at each other, smirking, but none replied to him.

“The Major will want to see you,” the officer, a captain, said instead.


	9. Moscow, 11th November 2023

Benny had spent a rather unproductive afternoon researching what had gone on in the UK and US for the previous five years from an entirely outside perspective, a perspective that was not very impressed with democracy in the first place. She had lots of information regarding a credit crunch and how the then Prime Minister of Britain, a brilliant economist, had had more success with the Chinese government’s response to what could have led to a massive global recession or even depression than his own government, which had to appease its members who had to be re-elected by an ignorant and easily whipped up mass of voters. Here the man was a respected, educated figure, who worked now with global education and African development polices. In the West he and his now husband were despised and hated and ridiculed. He was so respected that his late coming out of the closet was tolerated by people, that to Benny, seemed incomprehensibly enlightened on some things and yet hugely homophobic, the very word being something she only knew from history. It was all very interesting, and Bernice recognised the names from some of her history studies. But she remembered from a heavy tome she had forced herself to read, ‘Capitalism, Development, and Warfare in the 19th, 20th and 21st Centuries’ by Professor Ai Blair-Brown, a seminal work some 50 years before the Second Dalek War, that proposed Depression/Recession = civil unrest/war/famine/extremism/oppression/violence. The economy crashing, felt badly in some parts of the world, could explain the rise of fascism. It was a simple chain of causation from a historian’s point of view. She didn’t think Ace would see it like that.

Besides, as the historian with some four centuries of future knowledge, she knew it wasn’t meant to go that way for Britain. She couldn’t get the sight of the swastikas and race hate scrawled and painted on the shop fronts of a place she was expecting to see light, people, a very carnival, a festival of light in fact. Nor could she forget Ace’s distress and hurt.

It was now four hours, and the Doctor, if he was as good as his word, would be parked outside the library to pick her up. She rather hoped they could at least have a look around the city before they left to do goodness knows what with the information she and Ace had gathered while he and his TARDIS had hopped about doing Goddess knew what.

Ace and the Doctor were outside the main steps; she couldn’t see where he had parked the TARDIS. Both were dressed differently, the Doctor in his perennial white linen suit, but who knew if it was the same one and how many he had, but the colour of his shirt was different, and he wore a cravat and not a tie, under that ridiculous question mark sleeveless sweater she had thought –hoped – they had seen the last of! Ace wore her long duster coat over what looked like her combat suit. Benny could have sworn she’d had on jeans with her old jacket from her youth to go home in for the Diwali street fair.

“Hello Benny,” the Doctor said, doffing his hat and grinning. He looked a little strained and tired and sad in his eyes, Benny noted curiously. Last time she had seen him he had been angry and curious, standing at possible battle stations, to alter time, ferment revolution, or find their way to their own universe, which she wasn’t sure, possibly all three. She was even less sure when Ace scowled at her and demanded,

“What did you find then?

“Hi Ace. Nice to see you too. Hello Doctor.” Benny looked at him, but he nodded sternly, without the trace of a smile, so she went on, “I don’t know if it helps, but we’re looking at a global banking crash, global economic depression, the wrongest possible response from the newly elected Coalition government, leading to falling wages, austerity, and a blame on the immigrants and disabled and foreign powers policy. All a standard pre-fascist and fascist historic pattern. Maybe this credit crunch wasn’t meant to happen?”

“Fascinating,” the Doctor said, linking arms with her. “Ace found me a person, you found me cause, individual and movement, spirit and economic base, Hegelian and Marxian answers. Yin and Yang, I wonder if that summarizes the two of you? Shall we have some tea? I believe Ace is hungry.”

*

“You need to me research what now?” Bernice asked, surprised, ten minutes later, at the teahouse opposite the library. She watched Ace tuck into noodle soup. Ace was in her armour, and gave the impression she had been gone for days, not the hours she had been in Shanghai.

“The Chinese Space Industry and its plans. The global space race. Something called ANZAC SEP– the Australia, New Zealand and China Science Exchange Program. I need us to be members, I’m taking you to Canberra, you’ll need to sort out entire fake academic and government credentials for us – xeno medicine and psychology.”

“Okay. But how does this relate to the UK and US dissolving into bankrupt failed states with fascist ideals? Or Iceland disappearing in a natural disaster of unbelievable size?” Benny felt confused and out of her depth all of a sudden, when she had felt they were getting on track with Ace’s suspicions on Mortimus posing as a banker then a politician, it was looking likely he had manipulated history into the wrong direction again. What did the Chinese Space Industry have to do with anything on the other side of the planet in this fractured, nationalistic, point on Earth’s history?

“It doesn’t. It may do. I have to establish we are in the right universe, and certain things – and people – have led me to doubt the information from the TARDIS alone,” the Doctor explained. “But first things, first. We need to sort out fake IDs and book a suite into the best hotel in town.”

“Then?” Ace asked. She looked confused, and possibly angry. Or maybe just concerned for the Doctor. It was hard to tell with Ace. One thing was for sure; something was going on that neither of them wished to share with her. Oh well, Benny decided to trust them for now.

“Then we are going to Russia Ace. Naturally,” the Doctor replied with a twinkle

“Oh. Of course we are,” Ace said sarcastically.

 

*

The Doctor dropped Bernice in Canberra, Australia, in December 2020, at the beginning of what jumped into her head as ‘the Summer Australia Burned’, as she remembered something from somewhere, perhaps a history book from her own time, or something mentioned when she had been stuck on Pluto, but she had been possessed then, and things were hazy. Some of the white gangs had been Australians, placed there when their economy had tanked. But obviously not quite yet, no sign of pot bellied starving Australian white kids yet. Trade with China was obviously keeping their economy afloat, but only just. Food prices were rising, but there was some food in the shops, and they weren’t looking at hyperinflation or rationing. The Doctor and Ace, well, mostly Ace, had talked of refugees and food shortages and darkened skies. Here, on the horizon, there was blackened smoke, but the sky itself was bright blue. Too blue, in fact, as there was a lack of ozone, a hole punched by human lack of care of their own planet. She wished she had some sort of moral upper hand, but in her era humanity were destroying braces of planetary environments for their own profit. Benny had covered up in a cool linen trouser suit and large, floppy, straw hat, and slathered on sunscreen. She had no intention of risking skin cancer.

She was here as the Doctor felt the national emergency due to the extreme bush fires and the slowly collapsing economy and intense negotiations with Salamander and his company and the Mexican government to bail them out would distract the government employees and AIs from a little judicious hacking and altering.

She watched the TARDIS dematerialise with a sinking feeling. She had a few days, perhaps a week, to find somewhere to stay, set up some fake academic and professional criteria here and in China, and two whole back histories and accompanying paperwork. All on the assumption that four centuries ahead and her own faked professorship was enough. The Doctor had left her detailed notes on what he needed for them, but little on how to go about it.

Oh well, find a base and then reconnaissance of the society and its rules first, then records and universities, she planned. She fingered the credit card in her hand and headed towards the complex of hotels and offices behind the parkland the Doctor had dropped her.

 

*

The Doctor materialised the TARDIS in a little alleyway, which turned out to be behind the new train dockyards, where large amounts of freight that had travelled from China and India and beyond, from the new Asian Tigers and Australia, across the Asiatic land bridges, were unloaded, while Russian wheat and manufactured goods and vodka were loaded, bound for the East and South.

“It’s all reversed, hasn’t it? Or at least starting to flip?” Ace said as they stood looking at the large yards, at the massive engine turning on the large turntable as wagon after wagon was lifted from the flatbeds by huge cranes on giant wheels.

“M’m?”

“Sorry, forgot you like trains!”

“Look at the powerful engines, pulling all that freight thousands of miles. It took the humans so little time to adjust to no shipping or flights and keep business as usual.” The Doctor span around on his heel, leaning on the umbrella and using it as some kind of dance prop. “And yes, I suppose it is, flipped over, I suppose, from West to East, South to North, as the powerhouses of the economy and the hegemonies of politics.”

“When I was a kid, it was the First and the Third World and China was this mysterious place we knew nothing about, apart from old stereotypes with pointy beards and pigtails and all that.”

“Bit racist, isn’t it?” the Doctor said.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t. But it’s weird right, Britain is a failed state, America is totally evil, and Europe seems to be falling apart fast, although it’s trying to keep it together. But China and India are super powers and Africa seems to be rich, at least, from what I can see from stuff I read back in Canada.”

“Capitalism is still flourishing though, making people into commodities, divorcing them from their talents and efforts, selling them fake wants and wishes and dreams, dulling and squashing the soul. Everything for a profit, not the common good.”

Ace laughed. “Bit of a socialist, are we Professor. When I was on Earth Russia was communist, but obviously not now.”

“No. Not for a long time. It embraced naked capitalism some decades ago. But we have work to do Ace. I have information to collate, to back up what I took from the Chinese mainframe in Base 27, and you have the other Doctor to watch for me again. I believe he is due to arrive in a few hours from Warsaw in Poland. It was a sleeper. It’s now about 5am Moscow time.”

 

*

Ace leant on a golden pillar watching the delayed train come to a standstill in the station. It was an ancient diesel, old even when she was on Earth, spreading the oily smell of carbon monoxide that was slowly being eliminated in the early twenty-first century. People were disembarking and rushing. 

It took Ace a while to spot him, as he was in different clothing – black jeans and a jumper and a black trench coat – and was with an Arab family, a woman, three kids of different ages, and a baby. He was carrying a child of about five or six and towing the largest suitcase, a cool bag and a sports bag strapped across his back, making a cross with the straps on his chest. The woman was pushing the buggy, another two bags on her shoulders and the boy, maybe twelve, was pulling two more suitcases. A girl of about ten was also running with them. They jostled and pushed their way to the front of the passport control.

They appeared to be pleading with the immigration officials, and they stepped off the platform and continued to rush. Ace followed them, losing them several times among the new arrivals and the beginnings of the rush hour.

She followed them out to a taxi rank and once again pleased the taxi driver; this time an African woman immigrant, speaking accented Russian, and followed them across Moscow city centre at break neck speed to another train station.

They ran like crazy, towing the luggage and smaller children, and soon were on another platform, after another high-pitched appeal to the immigration officers. The Doctor was initially prevented, and then the officer appeared to relent, and he rushed down the train with the family. The train was Tashkent bound. Ace had no idea what she would do if this future Doctor got on board. Her Professor wanted him followed and watched.

She followed them along the other side of the fence, the one on Russian soil rather than the no man’s land of an international platform.

He carried the luggage on the train and then the buggy and jumped down to be hugged by the women and then the children. Everyone else already seemed to have boarded. The train was due to leave in a matter of minutes. The whistle blew and the doors closed with a clunk and then another whistle and the train began to move and the Doctor, sentimental, began to run along side, waving at the children and their mother. The train exited the station and accelerated and the Doctor came to a full stop at the end of the platform, and stood, dejected, for a while, before he began to walk – no limp painfully! – back to the entrance barriers and gates and passport control, immigrations and customs.

*

Meanwhile, the Doctor bought himself a burner smart phone and laptop and found a cheap room not far from KGB head quarters.

KGB, best secret police and spy service of the twentieth century and still so in the 2020s, the best that humans had created thus far, along with its private for rent arm, KGB would spy for anyone, as long as the price was right and it didn’t interfere with the Russian government interests.

“Now,” the Doctor said to himself, stretching out his fingers, and clicking the bones, “let’s see what you know about the Chinese Space plans and Commander Chan Yu and his Shenzhou 19 project and disappearance, and do you know anything about their plans and experiments for me – him?”

 

*

 

Ace followed him at a distance of perhaps three metres, people coming in-between them and giving them cover. She wore her wraparound mirror shades, which some people gave her odd glances for in this darkened dust and ash filled place, she just gave them an evil smile and they soon looked hurriedly away.

The Doctor himself didn’t notice her at all. He had a bag with him, a small sports or weekend bag, in black and brown and pink, and he walked slowly and painfully, and kept rubbing his abdomen absently. He suddenly sat down on an empty bench and bent over slightly and tried to hug himself and rock slightly as obscurely as possible. Ace felt like she wanted to go up to him and give him a hug.

Raped the Doctor had said.

It hadn’t happened in Paris. But here, in Moscow, nearly two weeks later for him, it had happened. She wanted to find the scum bag toe rags and kick them to death, and then it would be too good for them. 

And he wasn’t even her Professor. Probably not even a proper future version of him, but some alternative one, from some other universe.

Unless this was his universe. That was the point of all this, then. 

It had better be.

Then, if this were that skinny, vulnerable, pretty thing’s universe then she would join with him to overthrow the fascist regime that had overtaken her country, even if it wasn’t exactly hers. 

You’d think, after all she’d been through already, she’d not bother with emotional investment in pocket and alternative realities, but no. She would never learn. Never!

She suspected, for all his pomposity and Time Lord speeches, the Doctor, deep down, was no different, and would be proud of the depth of her compassion and kindness and the burning desire for justice she felt. Wasn’t that, after all the manipulations and grand schemes, what drove him on? 

This Doctor got up and started to rush, running and weaving in and out of other people. She nearly lost him, but he merely went into the Gents. Well, she couldn’t follow him there.

A while later he came out looking pale and wan and afraid, and kept rubbing at his left wrist and muttering to himself like a madman. She followed him outside and into the streets, where he walked with no plan or design, wiping tears and snot from his face and still talking to himself.

After a while, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, he seemed to have done a circle, and they were back at the station. He entered the ticket and booking office. It was well grand, like a palace or something. Mind you, she’d noticed from the taxi how grand and shiny and fairytale Moscow’s designs were.

He rushed away from the booth looking stricken. He obviously did not have enough for his ticket to China, which was no doubt where he was bound, to get his TARDIS and companion.

He walked again, still muttering, still looking afraid and vulnerable and ill. Ace knew the Doctor had forbidden her to make contact, but it was hard not to. She fought against it, but after he found a sleazy hotel and tried to get a room and then re-emerged, on the way to change his Euros at the Bureau de Change across the street, she couldn’t help join in with his imaginary aloud dialogue with his pretend companions,

“What a complete div, pretty Professor.” The manager of the hotel had obviously triggered him even more than whatever happened in the Gents.

He looked around, but she quickly walked away, hiding among the people and the parked cars. She knew where he would be until the Trans-Siberian Express left, and that was what he was planning to do, from his ticket enquires. Time to go back to the TARDIS and wait for the Doctor.

*

As the Doctor loaded everything on to the flash drive he bought, he considered how it might be a good idea to add a data storage app to the new sonic screwdriver he had acquired a while ago, in what had turned out to be a pocket universe. This could very well turn out to be the same, a variation on a theme? But the question remained, if not a pocket, an aberration from deliberate manipulation, was this their universe, or that other Doctor? 

He was constantly tweaking and tinkering with the newly acquired old sonic screwdriver, nevertheless. He had forgotten, over the centuries, since his was destroyed by the Terileptil in his fifth incarnation, how extremely useful a tool it could be. 

The Russian Space Intelligence Corp, a wing of the KGB set up in 2020, had lots of information it had obviously lifted from UNIT, with their own agents working within UNIT but passing on information. They had enough information on him to write an opera. They had little but supposition and shared knowledge on the Chinese, however. Base 27 was a cross between a research station, a proving ground, a Chinese equivalent of both Area 51 and the Consortium in the US. Everything they refused to acknowledge or share with UNIT or their partners was based there. The other Doctor’s companion’s research and launch had happened there. Obviously the Chinese Embassy had made a big song and dance about the Doctor returning their missing cosmonaut, and had held a Reception in his honour in their European Embassy in Brussels. No doubt that had been when he had been captured, drugged, tattooed and chipped and abandoned to his fate among the poor and dispossessed and refugees throughout the Eurozone. The official story was that Commander Chan Yu went home a hero and the Doctor on his way. There were unconfirmed rumours that the Chinese had acquired a time capsule, but the reports from a Commander Anton Pavel Roschenkov were vague and almost, seemingly from the Doctor’s point of view as he scanned them, deliberately obscurant.

He had obtained very little he needed on the Wormhole, the circumstances of its appearance and disappearance, which might have some bearing on time being out of its fixed axis and the appearance of two Doctors from two universes while at the same time a younger, naive, Doctor was crystallising the timeline with no knowledge of what was occurring in a bigger sense on Earth.

UNIT itself was concerning, like many UN organizing it was starved of funds and coming apart at the seams, and its location in different zones had created different funding streams and mission statements. In the US it had been privatised, while in Canada and the Central and Southern American nations it had joined forces with the general military, preparing for US invasions and bombing runs, conventional and potential nuclear threats. The US had already turned the Korean peninsular and Iran into nuclear wastelands, at the horrendously incalculable loss of life.

Across the Euro, Africa, and Russia Zones it appeared to maintain its original function and operation, although the Russians were secretive and did not share nor trust Africa or Europe UN Operations. In India it served the Space Agency. Australia and New Zealand Command, along with the remaining Polynesian nations, as many had vanished due to rising sea levels, were starved of funds but appeared incorrupt and bent on investigating and protecting the southern half of the planet from alien incursion. Russia was trying to obtain UNIT India’s Intel and were dismissive of the Southern Operations.

It was all very depressing, conflicting, and required further investigations. Obviously the planet was due to split into two power blocs and a Cold War, and UNIT almost forgotten until Paris, due in just over 70 years from now, when it would be reborn as a global defence force.

Britain had been a uniting factor, however. Not a pariah fascist state mistrustful of the other and cut off from all trade, military, and scientific links. The suffering of Ace’s people was also horrific to contemplate.

“Alright Professor,” she said, appearing at the door, almost as if she knew the melancholy turn of his thoughts.

“Ace!” he turned and beamed. “Did he arrive on schedule?”

“Yep. Crazier than ever, talking to imaginary companions again, hugging toy rabbits, and shaking at men talking to him. He couldn’t afford a ticket on the Trans-Siberian.”

“Naturally. Will you sort that out? I’ll just write him a note and we can meet him. You know where to deliver a note, I take it?” the Doctor began to pat his pockets, as if hoping to find a notebook or writing paper and a pen.

“’Course. He’s staying in a right seedy hotel for the meantime.” Ace flopped down into the chair in front of the coffee table. Sadly, this time, the Doctor hadn’t laid on any toast and tea.

“Good!” the Doctor had found a pad of lilac, lavender scented, writing paper in good, thick stock, and a fountain pen, and was writing as he spoke. “How long to buy the ticket, and some cash cards in Roubles and Yen and get back to here. Well, that bar over the other side of the train dockyards?”

“Doctor? You want to meet him there? Why?”

“No Ace, I want you to meet him there! It’s nearby. Good for a quick exit. Besides, I won’t be meeting him, I think I’ve done that enough, don’t you? Too embarrassing, done that twice already. You and Benny will. I’ll fetch her while you sort out travel tickets and currency.”

Ace sat forward and snapped, “It’s a sleazy place full of dockers and train drivers. Seriously!”

“Nonsense Ace, it’s called The Junction, does a lovely selection of snacks and food. Seventeen different types of potato salad! Seventeen Ace! Think of that? How many ways can you turn the common potato into a salad?”

Ace sighed and stood up, “Full of drunken, big, strong, testosterone driven, human males Professor. Skinny boy’s been raped, and he’s not as strong as you.”

The Doctor scowled, looked down at his feet, and shuddered visibly, as if someone had walked over his grave, and then looked up and grinned emptily. “Well, he’ll have you to protect his honour, won’t he? You and Benny both. You’re both Space Fleet trained, you’re more than a match for a drunken idiot who tries anything. And why should they, we’re out of the EuroZone, the chip isn’t registered, the tattoo has no meaning, and acting on attraction to someone of the same gender is ridiculously considered a crime here? Unless you’re concerned for yourself?”

“No slimeball groping scumbag touches me without my permission, Professor, you know that?” Ace growled, annoyed.

“Good,” the Doctor smiled, and she realised she had been played. It should have annoyed her, but she smiled back, surprised it no longer did. “Besides,” the Doctor went on, “I’ve already written the note.” He folded it over and handed it to Ace, then reached out and pulled a Chinese credit card with a company account for a CAIC from behind her ear. “Ticket in the name of Dr John Smith I should think.”

“Of course Professor, what else? Can I grab a quick shower and something to eat first?”

“You’re always eating!” the Doctor moaned with a grin. “Time isn’t an issue in a TARDIS, you know that. Go ahead, I’ve got this data to shift through. And Ace...?”

“Yeah?” Ace stopped still.

“Take your coms with you. Let me know when you’ve delivered the items please.”

“No problem,” Ace said, heading for the interior door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed the flip side of an important scene in Journey Through Europa :)
> 
> (the PIP assessment went better than the last, in that the assessor understood autism, and was gentle with my daughter and wrote notes up. Who knows how it went? I'm at battle stations slowly getting evidence together for an appeal, and if they continue to pay it will be a pleasant surprise! Hopefully this will be finished before any appeal begins...)


	10. Chinese Embassy, Brussels, 24th November 2023

Back in Brussels, in the Chinese Embassy, all was in chaos following the assassination of one EuroCombine Minister and one UN EuroZone attaché and the uncovering of the corruption of several others. Brigadier Laoh stood by the shredder in the basement office, hard copy after hard copy of bio data and interrogation notes falling at his feet in ribbons. He was probably being paranoid and over cautious. His colleague, from the secret police, the poster boy for paranoia, didn’t see what would be the issue even if any European Agency broke in. No doubt they had their own ET notes and files, and it wasn’t as if the Doctor had given them anything useful for the space race. 

Yet.

Still, there was something different about this, Laoh was sure. Almost as if he wished to protect the Doctor’s own privacy.

No, that was ridiculous!

He had planned to return to China at around this time, depending on when the Doctor arrived. What he had not planned for was the earthquake and volcanic eruptions in Hungary, the explosions at Salamander’s Kawaski Research Base in Australia, the murder of both the EuroCombine Environment Minister and the UN Eastern EuroZone Environment Attaché, and the threatened collapse of both the UN and EU, rather than the progression of Chinese influenced World Zones controlled by the increasingly Chinese dominated UN Council. Damn that Salamander! Some were even implicating him in the Hungary quakes and the previous Italian ones two years previously. Hell! They might even try to blame Iceland on him, despite Green Extreme taking full responsibility, claiming to end global warming. Well, that was debatable. It may have mitigated its effects somewhat in the sub artic latitudes, but further south, with the Arabian oil fields burning, thanks again to another faction of Green Extreme, and Iran a nuclear wasteland, climate change was speeding up, global warming growing exponentially in the south – the Australian outback barely habitable and many Polynesian Islands already lost.

This was why both the Chinese Space Programme and the Environment Programme Five, Ten, and Twenty, Year Plans were vital – not just for the Chinese, but for all other humanity as well. Salamander’s SunCatcher and RainMaker were a start into gravimetrics, but what weather control must the Doctor know and understand? How much could he give the Chinese People to get out into space, the solar system, and beyond, to nearby star systems with planets in the habitable zone? The very continuance of mankind might be dependant on what information could be extracted from the Time Lord. Dr. Ling seemed to have forgotten that; side tracked by other, interesting and curious, as they might be, research projects.

“Laoh,” Ling called now from the door.

“Yes?” he replied, feeding in one last ultra sound scan hard copy, watching the mostly indecipherable black and white splodges fall into ribbons.

“Our unit is doing one more sweep of the building and compound with regular soldiers. All diplomats, civil servants, and other civilians are already on buses bound for Schiphol. Are you ready?”

“All our computers' hard drives wiped clean and purged, software scrubbed and this is the last hard copy now.”

“I respect your diligence, even if I fear it is overkill. UNIT EU know all about the Doctor. He worked for them roughly half a century ago, give or take a decade.”

“Not this,” Laoh said, gesturing to the bin. He switched off the shredder at the wall, flicked off the light and followed Ling out. Neither man spoke. Both had been in Europe for many years now, and the completely empty Embassy was chilling, an omen of things yet to come. Or perhaps that was just Laoh’s imagination. Ling never talked much.

“Did Roschenkov come up with anything, talking of UNIT EU?” Laoh finally asked, not bearing the silence any longer. It was a niggle at the back of his mind, the stern, intelligent, Russian double agent whom the Doctor had conned into helping, seemingly by sex. Even the tool used to break him; he managed to turn around to his advantage. It was why Ling sent him to the secure brothel containing only trafficked, enslaved whores.

“UNIT Russia could not find anyway into Geneva at all. That’s not all. Roschenkov has vanished. His apartment has been cleared out and no one at the Russian Embassy, KGB, or UNIT Russia, have a clue, if my other operatives' Intel can be trusted. It’s almost as if he had vanished from the face of the Earth,” Ling replied.

Laoh frowned, and stood aside as Ling inputted all security codes to entirely lock down the Embassy. China was removing itself diplomatically pro temp following the Salamander fiasco and the very probably final collapse of the EuroZone economy and stability that had begun five years previously with the Syrian refugee crisis and the mad slow suicide of the UK. Brexit and the resultant chaos certainly put an end to the pro-democracy movement at home. The only good thing in an otherwise global markets destabilising result.

China itself was now virtually the only country that wasn’t up to its neck in the Salamander fiasco, the only country to get its act together over the environment. A result of a stable, incorrupt, dutiful, serving government, neither a insane dictatorship with a cult of leader nor a flimsy democracy controlled by the media and the mob, Laoh thought to himself patriotically now, ignoring the question at the back of his mind – the Doctor was still in China, wasn’t he, making his way to Base 27? Where had Roschenkov gone?

He would miss Europe, even if, post Iceland, it wasn’t the place it once was. Still, one day, decades they estimated, the ash would clear, and no one would need the SunCatcher. It looked like the ensuring mess following the Salamander scandal would take years, if not decades, to untangle, and what did that mean for his gravimetric projects to undo environmental devastation and famine? China’s own President and Party leader had sensibly made the decision to leave them to it and issued a period of isolation beyond controlled trade and a very small diplomatic contingent was to remain at Strasburg, Paris, and Warsaw, and that was that. The rest of the Consulates and the main Embassy were all closing down and hundreds of Chinese citizens were going home.

Musings on the world post Salamander was not enough of a distraction, and very worried, Laoh asked now, “The Doctor still is in China? The TARDIS still in its container truck in the Base?”

“As far as we know. It made itself invisible, but its guarded night and day, and with the constraints there is no way it would have dematerialised. The calculations were exact.”

“No, I know. There was absolutely no way it could have dematerialised. I’m assured that the mix of crystals was based on Gallifrey’s own transduction barrier.”

“Assured by whom?” Ling demanded.

“Need to know Ling, need to know.” Laoh relented, and smiling slightly, added, “I don’t know where the intel came from either.”

“Be Torchwood or the Consortium,” Ling mused. “Ex employees sold everything and anything to escape their countries purges and executions and death camps.”

“True. Their loss, our gain. Also, it has the interesting side effect of blocking the Doctor from his machine's telepathic translation matrix.”

“Yes, and that made breaking him all the more easy.”

“You think?” asked Laoh, wryly. “Oh well, I’m going home to pack. Meet me in an hour with the car.”

 

*

 

Laoh had grown fond of his small apartment and its view, even if the ash cloud obscured it somewhat. He packed quickly and efficiently; he had little need for possessions. Clothes, books, the photo of his parents and ex wife and son, then quickly changed into his uniform, putting the Western suit into the carrier with the others.

He regarded himself in the mirror. He looked young for his age, his hair needed a haircut somewhat, his uniform highlighted that. Crinkles at his eyes, a little too broad for his liking, he had grown over fond of Belgium pastries and cakes. However, he felt far more comfortable back in his uniform, felt more like himself. He’d been in the People’s Army since he was sixteen, and for the past five he had been somewhat of a diplomat and politician, a disguise, a need to put the Europeans at their ease, as he had hunted refugees and watched EU and Russian UNITs for any useful information on alien tech. He was head, after all, of the newly formed IMCs military arm, and he knew Africa could not sustain China forever in its endless quest to modernise and colonise the solar system. Out there, on asteroids, there were minerals aplenty to feed the growing demand for technology and devices and inventions, and who knew what there was out there, beyond the Oort Cloud?

He was so proud of his country; in less than three decades it had jumped from a mostly agrarian economy to the most successful, advanced, economy in the world. Switching to clean, green, energies had not halted its progress, unlike in the democracies. Democratic peoples were never prepared to make the sacrifice, and had a poor education to understand the planet's needs. Chinese people currently had the best standard of living, were the best fed, best educated, most integrated, in the world.

It was all how it should be, of course. Until the British and their damn Empire and then the twentieth century and its damned European petty tribal wars dragging the rest of the world in with them and the emerging ideologies of communism and fascism also bringing war and genocide, China had always been the most great and advanced the world had ever seen. For millennia. China was indeed awesome.

Still, some things he had done still gave him pause for thought. Torturing traitors, or ordering it at least, left him slightly queasy, despite knowing he was doing his patriotic duty. Persuading British and Syrian scientists to abandon their extended families and sometimes their religious beliefs, did not sit easy on his conscience. Nor what he had had done to the Doctor. The tattoo and the dump in the New Jungle was one thing, but Ling's insistence at the brothel, porn, and rapes. That was unforgivable; Ling himself would be horrified at such a thing being done to another human being. Rape was a torture of other, of lesser, human beings; it did not belong to the Chinese. It was something that belonged in history, to the Japanese and the British.

Poor Japan, flooded with radiation yet again. They said one in every two births was deformed or stillborn. Whatever they did eighty years ago, they had already suffered for that following Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The earthquakes and tsunamis over the last ten years had destroyed all their power stations. It was why nuclear fission had not been considered an option when looking for green solutions. China too sat on fault lines. One of Laoh’s proudest achievement over the past five years in this project was his locating and offering Chinese citizenship to all the British scientists who had been working on the Fusion Project in Culham, Oxfordshire, and the nuclear physicists from Oxford University too.

And poor Britain, whatever horrors they had done centuries past, they were now isolated and alone, as North Korea had once been, blinded by propaganda and hatred, destroying their people and their very soul, starving and killing each other.

Laoh sighed deeply, and took one last look at his apartment, at the blurry, grey, pumice soaked, views, then locked up and called the lift.

 

*

 

Ling was outside in the Merc. Laoh put his bags in the back and sat down next to him. Although as a Brigadier, he technically outranked Dr. Ling's honorary rank of Major, he was in the secret police and had powers over him he wasn’t comfortable with.

Ling accelerated away immediately, as Laoh was buckling up. The Peoples' Republic of China had chartered five rockets to take their people home. Two were launching from Schiphol Spaceport in Amsterdam, the first already launched, the second leaving the following morning. The one they were to be one. Laoh hated it, hated G-force and micro-G, remembered with fondness the old days, ten hours on a Boeing, a no-time, no-stress time, a time to restock and revalue. Now one could go home in two hours or fourteen days, give or take. He almost wished he had time and permission for ten to fifteen days on a train.

As they hit the motorway, Holland bound, Ling finally spoke. He had looked like an excited child hiding a secret all the way through the Brussels roadways.

“Trackers indicated the Doctor is in Xichang. He must know where his TARDIS is.”

“Is he? Interesting. Telepathy? Or something more mundane? Roschenkov, for instance?”

“We’re to go straight to Base 27. Our rocket is being diverted to Xichang.”

“Good. I can’t help wondering what the rest of the passengers will think.”

“They have no right to think,” Ling said primly. “They are loyal Chinese citizens.”

“How black and white things are for you,” Laoh thought bitterly. “Of course,” he said aloud.

 

*

Twenty four hours later, just after disembarking and while Laoh was trying not to shake or vomit after a terrifying re-entry, Ling put his finger to his ear, receiving a call in his implanted Blue Tooth.

“The Doctor has been apprehended trying to get into his TARDIS. It has reappeared.”

“Good. And interesting,” Laoh replied, wondering why he still felt so sick. This was what they hoped for, ever since Operation Rose had appeared to fail. They needed those equations and technology. But ever since Ling’s side project had success, Laoh questioned their ethics more and more.


	11. Still Moscow, 11th November 2023

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scenes below are the flip side to the tenth Doctor's experience of the bar scene in chapter 22, Moscow in Journey Through Europa.
> 
> Trigger warnings below

Ace had obviously arrived second, as she spotted Bernice propping up the bar in the far corner, seemingly conning some men out of money by the old coin and three cups trick.

“Ace!” she called, waving over at her.

Ace crossed the room and Benny turned to the men, “Sorry boys; business to conduct. Maybe you’ll get me next time.” She turned to Ace and smiled a slightly drunken smile, “Ace! What’s your poison?”

“Vodka and coke,” Ace replied, sitting herself on the stool next to Benny. None of the bar staff seemed to pay any attention to the corner, so Benny walked off to the centre of the bar, the men clearing a path for her. Ace noticed one of the group she had been entertaining was developing a bruise on his jaw. Quite a left hook Benny had, when she needed to.

“You’re knocking it back Benny,” Ace pointed out.

“Do me a favour, I’ve had nothing but the odd Aussie larger for a week. A whole week he left me, how long have you been hopping this time?”

“Day. Maybe two. Hard to tell. Could be three. Time means nothing,” Ace lied. In point of fact, no more that four or five hours had passed since they dropped her in Canberra in 2020. Still, they were gone ages whilst she had spent no more than four hours at the library in Shanghai, so maybe it balanced out? “What were you doing?” Ace asked, changing the subject.

“I am Professor Bernice Summerfield,” she began.

“I know. Well, not really...”

“Well now I’m doubly fake, I’m into xenopsychology and parapsychology, along with being a regular shrink. I had a practice in Melbourne for a decade, before moving to Canberra to work with Australian UNIT, and now, I work as a private therapist in Shanghai, following the famine and economic collapse following the Bush Fires. They were burning while I was there Ace; he took me back a couple of years or so. It’s such a mess...”

Ace tuned Benny out. Yeah, she had been building fake IDs for her and the Doctor, she got that, she wasn’t quite sure why yet, but genuine ID in such an ID focused world, a world full of the dispossessed and poor and refugees, and if you couldn’t produce the right kind, you were sub-human and no one would listen, she got that. How it would get them into the UK and deal with that Meddling Frog Face, she had no idea.

She turned to watch the door, as if sensing him, and watched the other Doctor enter the door warily. He moved nervously and a little as if he was in pain and exhausted, more so than when she had watched him arrive.

He was barely two steps in when a large, hairy, brute of a bilgebag goosed him, grabbing his arse and pushing his oily, greasy, finger up where it shouldn’t go. Not without the Doctor’s consent, at any rate.

“I’m gonna relieve myself, and maybe get us some more drinks,” Benny said, sliding of the stool next to Ace, “I’m obviously boring you as well as myself with the minutia of my ultra boring week and you’re as forthcoming as the Doctor on what you’ve been up to as ever.”

“What, yeah, sure, same again Benny. Ta,” Ace replied, distracted by what she was watching.

She watched as the Doctor froze, not even breathing, and then gave the man who pinched his arse a withering glare. The creep merely laughed and knocked back his vodka.

“How much darling?” he demanded. So much for the Professor’s theory, he knew damn well what the tattoo meant in Europe.

The Doctor only continued to glare pathetically, frozen by fear Ace guessed. Poor sod. She had had enough of watching on the sidelines.

“Oi! Fatso fur ball. Can’t you see he don’t want you!” she yelled across the room. She stood up and strode up to the creep who assaulted the Doctor, balling her fists as she went, her old battered bomber jacket emblazoned and festooned with many, many badges over it, slung over her shoulder. She’d put it on as a prop, as she was sure however many centuries ahead, he’d remember it. When she got to them she kneed his assailant in the groin and then head butted him.

“Beat it sleazebag. Scum balls like you aren’t wanted here. Wanna still take me on slime ball. Yeah, I get he’s chipped, but here’s a tip donkey breath, prozzies can say no, so take a hike,” and she stomped on his foot with her twentieth fifth century Dalek Killer Elite Corps uniform boots. The man left, followed by his two mates, to the sound of the drunken roar of the few people left in the bar.

Ace decided she needed to wait for him to make the first move, for him to recognise her. She had to remind herself that although she had watched the Doctor talk to him, it was in this Doctor’s future. 

As she turned to walk back to the bar the Doctor grabbed her arm and cried out in a higher voice than her Doctor, “Ace! ACE!”

She whipped round and faked not knowing who he was, make him work for it, “Yeah, do I know you? Oh, I get it, my jacket. Or, as we mere mortals say, ‘ Thank you Ace’.”

“Hace. Ace. Oh Ace. Brilliant, amazing, fantastic, brave Ace. Thank you,” he babbled excitedly. “It’s so good to see you. Is Hex here? Where did you get the gear? Suits you. Oh definitely, suits you. No one kills Daleks like you.” He was grinning like a loon but apparently couldn’t stop it, looking down at her happily. Ace merely looked at him coolly. Then she turned and walked back to her drink. He followed like a puppy dog, still grinning inanely, as she knew he would. “Thank you. You have no idea the hell I’ve been through since woke up with this chip and tattoo.”

Who the frag was Hex? The Doctor was right; he was not from the same universe at all. How could he not know about the Dalek Killer Corp? Or Space Fleet or the IMC Mercenaries, if it came to that. His Ace obviously had a very different timeline to her. It made her feel queasy and sick inside to think of it, some other Ace, someone not her, but her, but not her, but...

It made her head spin!

“Look mate,” she snapped, leaning back on the bar, picking up her drink, “I don’t know any Hex, and I don’t know you.”

“Ace, it’s me. And you must know Hex, you must be all of twenty five by now? My Ace, my best Ace...” the Doctor’s lunatic grin began to falter, “unless... wait! I get it now. I have moved sideways. Have I? Or at least... But before or after Yu? Is he here? Am I here?”

Ace moved forward and swiftly grabbed his left wrist, making a show of feeling his pulse, to just check, whatever the Professor said. “How the hell do you get someone chip you pretty boy?”

His face fell and he looked so vulnerable.

“Pretty boy young Doctor?” Ace said with a smile, watching the relief on his face that she knew who he was. She decided to tease him, as she wanted to know, the young body, the so very young and attractive body, “What the hell is this, mid life crisis?”

The Doctor beamed his crazy, happy, smile, “Oh yes Ace, absolutely Ace, mid life crisis, more end of life crisis now, this is my twelfth regeneration. Do you like it?”

“I don’t do pretty boys, and you don’t do girls. You’re in a bit of cocktail pickle aren’t you?” she said dryly with a small smile, meeting his eyes. They were hazel and flecked with gold and so, so, sad and old.

“Oh yes,” the Doctor said, still grinning. “But now you’re here,” he said desperately, obviously wanting her protection full time. She wasn’t sure that was what the Professor wanted.

“Woah there fluffy, I’m doing stuff for the Professor, proper grown up stuff... s’sh.” Ace stopped herself and put her finger to her lips, removing her other hand from his wrist, which she had continued to hold. 

“Hello Ace, who’s this then?” Benny returned from the head, looking confused

The Doctor turned to look at the Benny with no recognition but instead, with confusion. More divergences, interesting that. Obviously this ‘Hex’ was there instead of Benny. There was no point in getting Benny upset and confused too. The Professor had obviously told her nothing, as she wasn’t expecting the Doctor or anyone else for that matter. Stupid games again. Oh well, she had decided to trust him. “Dunno,” she replied. “Stopped some greasy sleaze monkey pawing him. Think he said his name was John Smith or something. John, this is my good friend Professor Bernice Summerfield.”

“Call me Benny, John,” Benny slurred, taking his hand and caressing it.

“Um...?” the Doctor looked to Ace, panic and fear in his eyes.

“Benny, you don’t wanna do this.”

“Come on Ace, the Doctor’s doing whatever he’s doing and we have a few hours R&R. I say bingo. What’s your poison John?”

“Just a glass of water, please.”

“Aw, you’re no fun you are!” Benny put her hand on his chest and splayed her fingers. She must be well tanked to not notice that slow double rhythm of his hearts, Ace realised.

“Perhaps a cup of tea? That would be nice. Yeah. Thank you,” he replied, looking at Ace for further rescue and explanation.

“Benny, get us another, yeah, and tea for the... for John. Ta.” Benny swerved away from the corner to the main part of the bar to order. “Okay Doctor, sorry about that. Look Professor, I can’t do anything. Laws of Time or something, but here, you’ll be needing this...” Ace quickly grabbed her jacket and fished about the pockets. She produced two plastic cards, and handed them to him, “These are money cards, kind of like gift cards, but for anything, there’s a mil on each, one in Roubles and one in Yen, okay? At least you don’t have to act on that tattoo then. Whatever scumbag who did that, did it to break you. You’re stronger, right? So much stronger. Oh God, come here!” and Ace pulled him into a hug. “So much taller and skinnier now,” she said, pulling away and punching him in the arm. As they pulled apart they saw Benny standing in front of them, a glass of tea, one of Vodka and coke, and one of neat Vodka, on a tray.

She placed the tray on the bar behind them as she hissed, “Woah there Ace, he’s my boy.”

Ace turned to answer, not quite sure what she would actually say, but the Doctor finally found his voice and he had obviously had enough, “Point one, I’m nobody’s boy, point two, if I was, Ace is my knight in kevlar, carbonite, and Dalekanium, armour who charged to my rescue, point three, I’m not a boy at all, I’m over 1500 years old, although you won’t catch me admitting to being over 900 but there’s no point with you, Ace, is there –” he turned and winked at her – “and point four... Point four!” he shouted, as he swung around and pointed at Benny, sounding more and more faux cockney, “Who the hell are you?”

Ace grinned widely and quipped, “Nice to see you’ve finally leant to talk proper Professor!”

“Cruk. He’s the Doctor! You’re the Doctor? No way. Ace, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Look, who ARE you? You act like you’re my companion but I have no idea who you are. I don’t recognise you! I don’t remember you! Who are you?”

Benny began to look upset. The Doctor was staring at her intently. Now he’d got over the shock of being goosed by a drunk and was no longer babbling Ace could feel him, the Doctoriness of his gaze. Ace winced as Benny explained, “I’m Benny. Professor Bernice Summerfield. A fake professor of archaeology. We met on Heaven, remember? The Hoothi? Ace leaving us? Coming back after fighting Daleks? You must remember...”

The Doctor looked momentary flummoxed and upset himself, and then began, his voice rising as he got more excited, “No. I remember Hex. Ace and Hex. Hex... died, and... wait! Oh! It must be!” the Doctor held the back of his neck as if afraid his head might fall off with all the brain activity. “We’re... I’m...”

“Parallel worlds Doctor. I’m not really your Ace. Not quite. Sideways in time,” Ace confirmed with a look to Benny that said, ‘later’.

“Yeah, sideways timey-whimy stuff. Definitely,” the pretty Doctor replied

“Timey-what?” Ace snorted. “Do you ever listen to yourself Professor?”

“The question still is, though, is...?” the Doctor began, but Ace interrupted him again, aware of Benny staring at them with confusion and anger.

“Who moved sideways?” the Ace finished for him. “This doesn’t seem the right universe to us. Is Earth supposed to be like this to you?”

The Doctor shook his head. “No. No at all. Nor even like a parallel world I visited recently either. That one had zeppelins,” he added, aside, grinning again at Ace. As she smiled back she was aware of Benny grab her bag and prepare to storm out, obviously off to take all this up with the actual Doctor for leaving her out of things again. She shook her head at Benny, as she replied,

“Aw, Professor, you got to go to a steam punk universe. How cool is that?”

“There were Cybermen,” he replied numbly as Benny sat down again and listened, although Ace could tell she was still fuming.

“Not that cool then. So this one isn’t yours?” she asked directly, as they needed to know, although damn it, if it was his universe, she would insist they still did something, there was no way her country was going to be fascist!

“Don’t think so, no. He sent you, didn’t he?” the Doctor asked, equally directly, all the smiles, flirts, and games obviously done.

Ace shrugged and downed her drink, before grabbing Benny. They were done too, he had his money and ticket, so he would be on that train for the Doctor to meet him the other end to start all this. “Time to go Benny. Nice seeing you Professor. Glad I could get rid of the creep for you. You look after yourself; don’t get down okay? Don’t let them break you. We’ve gotta go now, you know how it is, people to do, places to see, Doctors to appease. Take care yeah,” she said as she pulled at Benny some more, who thankfully got the message. As they got to the door Ace whispered into her 25th century coms throat mike, “The pretty bird has landed.”

“What the hell was that about?” Benny demanded, as they walked back to the TARDIS.

“How much has the Doctor told you?”

“Only that there was another problem that needed solving before Britain, and that involved having backgrounds in space medicine and psychology, as being the scientific advisor for UNIT was a handicap not a blessing right now and we need to get into the Chinese Space Programme.”

“While we were gathering Intel on my country going fascist supernova he met himself arriving in China. Skinny boy. His companion is a Chinese astronaut, under arrest and being tortured as we speak, probably. They also have the TARDIS. Meanwhile, instead of the usual torture or threaten companion routine, they took everything from him, drugged him, and whacked a prostitute tag in him. He’s spent two to three weeks crossing Europe being used and abused and raped by men. The Professor wants him safe for the rest of his journey, I think. And us there in the Chinese space base as back-up.”

“Goddess. And I made a pass... I think I’m going to be sick!”

“That’ll be all the Russian cheap raw Vodka!”

“Yeah, so what does all this mean? Why didn’t he know me?”

“He’s from a different universe. Or we’re in his. The Professor hasn’t quite worked it out. Only it’s worse than that. Both are certain it shouldn’t go tits up in Europe and Britain, so we’re in a pocket universe caused by a temporal aberration, probably by another Time Lord, or someone, meddling. But question is, whose universe, which Doctor, should fix it?”

“And you get that, do you Ace, or you’re just repeating it?”

“Hell Benny, he’s told me practically nothing. I worked it out. I feel it, Benny, I don’t know why, maybe coz I’ve been travelling for so long, but I feel it almost as much as both the Doctors do. A headache and tingle at the back of the brain, a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. Time is being messed with and there’s been a temporal schism creating this side universe full of fascists and death.”

“Goddess, I don’t think I drank enough, you sound like...Oh sod it!”

“What?”

“The Doctor wanted takeout. He was excited by potatoes.”

“Oh yeah, seventeen types of potato salad.”

Both women grinned at each other and span on their heels and headed back to the bar, Benny linking arms with Ace companionably, and not at all to hold her up as the cold air and sulphur atmosphere got to her on top of the Vodka and revelations of temporal schisms.

They were nearly there when they heard a yell for help.

“Sounds like the other Doctor,” Benny said.

“You get our Doctor the salad, I’ll rescue pretty boy! See you back at the TARDIS.”

 

*

Ace ran into an alleyway beside the bar. She could see two figures at the other end, and as she got closer, she could see the Doctor was being smashed face first into the wall.

“Let go!” the Doctor was yelling at the top of his lungs. “Help!” he screamed. Ace could see he wasn’t intending to be raped again if he could help it, but it also looked like, without help, that was exactly what was going to happen. He struggled but all that earned him was his face smashed into the wall again. He tried to elbow and kick back, but he was pushed to the floor and kicked. Ace took all this in as she ran, everything seeming to slow down as she calculated the odds and whether she would get there before he tried something worse than fists. As the Doctor curled up to protect himself Ace made it to them and pulled the scumbag away from the Doctor’s prone body and span him into the wall, hitting him with an uppercut and a rabbit punch and a boot in the groin before he knew what was on him. The bilgebag howled and doubled over, he’d been hard and that boot must have been blindingly painful, but a red mist descended over Ace, this man was trying to rape the Doctor, who had already been raped, and she was no longer in control of herself and she hit and punched and kicked while yelling and shouting and swearing.

She was aware that behind her the Doctor tried to stand but stumbled and instead curled up into a tighter ball and bit back a sob. As she was aware of the sob she faltered, and with one final hard punch, she backed off, aware of the creep limping away down the alleyway, blood running down his face. Ace looked at her hand, it was covered in blood. She realised she had broken the scum’s nose, and probably a few ribs and maybe an arm bone or two. Oh well, he deserved it...

She looked down and saw the other Doctor curled into himself, panting with pain and fear. He looked up and met Ace’s gaze. She stood over to him, nursing her sore, bloodied, knuckles. Most of the blood wasn’t hers. She felt stunned. Why was he protecting his abdomen more that his head, she idly wondered, feeling suddenly like howling, the feel of the chase ended, the smell of her enemies blood in her nostrils...

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking at her with concern, standing up and leaning against the wall, cradling his abdomen in his hands.

“Yeah,” Ace managed to get out, trying to come back into focus, as the world around her seemed to speed up, “not my blood,” she added, trying and failing to grin, trying to resist the strange impulse to lick her hand. She continued, looking into his frightened eyes, focusing more, “no bones broken. Can’t say the same for the bastard’s nose. You alright?”

Ace had no idea what he might have replied, she felt a connection with him then, a telepathic one that said, ~Master~ and ~messes us up~, as her Doctor, the Professor, said behind them, as he stepped out of the shadows.

“I’m always alright, Ace. Aren’t I?” he asked pretty boy, he asked himself! 

Ace watched as the Professor looked up at pretty Doctor, who looking down at him with inquiring hazel eyes. “No, not quite,” pretty replied sharply.

“Did Ace give you the money?” the Professor asked skinny as he pulled out a large white hanky and handed it to Ace to clean up the blood from her hand.

“Oh yes. Thank you. Should we be doing this?” the pretty-boy replied, to himself! It was doing Ace’s head in.

“Not really,” the Professor replied, smiling widely. “I’ve booked you a berth on the Trans-Siberian, a first class sleeper compartment all to yourself. Pick the ticket up when you go. John Smith, Dr John Smith. Do you have passable ID?” 

“I’ve a passport in just such a name, a Chinese one,” the skinny Doctor replied. 

“Excellent,” Ace’s Professor said self-assuredly. 

Ace smiled as skinny boy asked, “Although, since we are crossing time streams, can’t you just take me there in your TARDIS?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” the Professor replied firmly, looking quite horrified. “You’re centuries ahead of me; don’t want the old girl knowing my future. Besides, we have things to investigate,” 

“The temporal shift, the error, the wrongness of this time, do you mean?” the other Doctor said.

“At least he didn’t say timey whimy this time,” Ace muttered to herself. Her Doctor glared at her curiously, as skinny boy looked a little embarrassed.

“What?” asked her Doctor, sounding confused.

“Oh, nothing,” Ace muttered, but she winked at the skinny one.

“Do you know where the change occurs?” her Doctor asked.

“Well, there was a referendum in Britain in 2016, June, there would be a good place to start,” pretty replied.

“But how? How did the xenophobes win it and how did the fascists highjack the result, h’m?” her Doctor thought aloud.

“I suppose you could just go back to 1896 and prevent that hate filled rag the Daily Mail ever being published.”

Her Doctor, the Professor, regarded skinny pretty boy with surprise, then took his white hat off and reached up to hit his future self on the head with it. “Idiot, that’s the sort of pointless meddling the Monk does! Take down the Mail; it would only get replaced with some other hate filled lying nonsense. No, we have to stop it and others using it to influence people to find hatred of the other normal and rational. I have my ideas.” 

Ah, thought Ace, so the Doctor did think that Frog Faced politician and banker was the Meddling Monk.

“The Monk?” pretty said thoughtfully. “Now there’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time.”

“You need to rescue your TARDIS Doctor,” the Professor said firmly, “leave the time meddling to us.” So, thought Ace, we are going to fix Britain. He’s decided this is an aberration of our universe, not pretty’s. Or can he just not resist it? Or trust pretty boy? Not sure I could trust skinny either; he’s too traumatised. The Professor went on, obviously thinking the same as Ace, “I’ll forgive you your haziness on temporal mechanics down to the stress of what you’ve been through.” He reached up and booped the pretty one on the nose and smiled. “Take care of yourself Doctor,” he said gently. “Come on Ace.”

“Likewise,” pretty called walking away in the opposite direction, adding what Ace thought sounded wistful, “Bye Ace.” 

Ace turned to the Professor, to her own Doctor, “Did you just boop your own nose, Professor?” as they headed back to the TARDIS.

“Yes Ace. I think I did.”

“Will he make it, do you think?”

“Oh yes, you see, I’ve already met him in China.”

Ace remembered waking up and watching him meet him off a bus, after they had sat in the open doorway of the TARDIS as she hovered over the Sichuan Mountains and forests. A weird but ace thing the Doctor had discovered they could do. “Oh yeah,” she said, “of course. That’s why we’ve been tracking him! Can’t you ever do anything normal, you know, in the right order?”

The Doctor chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that Ace? Where’s Benny?”

“I’m here,” Benny said, coming up to their side from a side alley that ran the length of the bar. “Someone want to help me with this?” She was laden with three bags full of cardboard takeaway containers.

“Here, let me,” the Doctor said, reaching up for two of the bags. “Let’s eat and then, I’m afraid Benny, I have more counterfeiting for you. This time in Beijing.”

 

*

 

Once in the TARDIS, the Doctor changed his mind, and instructing Benny to make herself a strong pot of coffee, set the coordinates for Geneva a few weeks back. His face was furious and dark, lit by the console and roundels, making him appear sinister, like a dark, avenging, angel. Ace sat back in the armchair and watched him, concerned, feet propped up on a suitcase that presumably contained all Benny’s acquisitions from a week in Canberra.

The Doctor made no pretence at anything but a full on angry assault. They dematerialised in UNIT Europe’s Geneva reception, and he stormed out of the TARDIS, flashed his old pass containing a photo of him as a white-haired, beaky nosed, older looking, man, and once the security doors were opened, just marched straight through. Ace and Benny, both taller and longer legged, had to jog to keep up with him.

He went up three flights and headed straight for a door marked C in C, yelling aggressively, 

“How dare you ignore the abuses by your Chinese Counterparts!?”

The Doctor stopped short of the desk, Ace and Benny nearly bumping into his back. A woman in civvies was at the desk. She had been on the phone, presumably being warned. She turned her chair and smiled warmly, 

“Doctor, it is an honour to meet you in this version. I’m Kate. Won’t you take a seat? Shall I send for some coffee?”

“What happened to your eye?” Ace blurted out. She couldn’t help herself. Not only was this woman not a Brigadier or anything at all military, she had an eye-patch, a pink sparkly eye-patch, over her left eye, like a bleeding Pirate Tinkerbell.

“Ah, I was stabbed in the mêlée of the Patriot Riots as my UNIT sciences division tried to evacuate. All my troops had either betrayed me – betrayed democracy and multiculturalism – or were dead. Are you talking about the fake Doctor?”

“He’s no fake,” the Doctor said, as he sat down, as if all fight had left him, as he remembered not only the suffering of his future incarnation, but of Ace’s people. “Coffee would be lovely, Ms...?”

“Stewart. Well, Lethbridge Stewart, actually, but I like to keep that bit quiet. You can call me...”

“Kate. Little Kate! You were five last time we met. Following in your father’s footsteps. Aha! That’s lovely. Sit down you two. Look, it's the Brigadier’s daughter, all grown up.” He dropped his charming smile almost as soon as he produced it, and demanded, “Why do say he’s fake?”

Kate looked at the corner of her room, “Because his artron energy is wrong, and he has temporal and dimensional displacement all over him,” a woman said, stepping forward, a woman wearing a copy of the awful question mark pullover of the Doctor’s.

“This is Osgood. She scanned him at the Chinese Embassy Reception in Brussels. Believe me, we had no idea what the Chinese had planned for him, nor how can we find him. We’ve been trying to track him, but he has one identical tramp-chip signature among thousands. Besides, you are also here in your Second Incarnation, working with rebels against the Salamander Corporation and the Mexican government. Look Doctor, you sometimes make things worse. People are hungry, the US is pointing nuclear arms at us, and Chinese and Russian protection is something we need. My hands are tied. Perhaps if he was really you... but who knows what a pan-dimensional Doctor wants? At least this way he is contained.”

“It isn’t meant to be this way,” Ace said harshly. “It isn’t.”

“Then go back and sort it, please. Give me my friends and my country and my eye back; don’t let me live through the last few years. Please.”

The Doctor stood. “Come on,” she said sadly, “there’s nothing for us to learn here. And I will do my best Kate, do my best, but be warned, this pocket universe may have to wind down all by itself, so some other Kate will be spared all you’ve been through.”

Kate looked down. “Do what’s right Doctor. I sometimes think I no longer know what is right from wrong any more,” she whispered quietly.

The Doctor squeezed her shoulder and muttered, “My dear Little Kate,” and then left her office. Ace and Benny looked at each other then wordlessly followed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for sexual and physical violence
> 
> Of course Kate has an eye-patch, this is an Alternate universe with a Fascist Britain, it has to have a Lethbridge Stewart with an eye-patch


	12. Base 27, 25th November 2023, under interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning below

The soldiers pulled the Doctor roughly by his arms out of the train dock and up several flights of metal stairs in empty concrete stairwells. Neither said a word, nor the officer who led the way, fingering the key in his hands. He had tried it in the lock, and when the door wouldn’t open, he insisted the Doctor unlock it. When the Doctor had refused, he had struck the Doctor with a sharp back-hander, splitting the Doctor’s lip and leaving him reeling. He had again refused, and as a result, was then punched in the side of his head, above his eye. He had almost swooned, stumbling to the ground, only to be yanked painfully to his feet by his arms, feeling the uncomfortable pull of his arms practically popping out of his shoulder blades. The pain, the vertigo, and near concussion, had caused him to vomit over the officer’s shoes. The officer had raised his fist again, and then obviously thought better of it, lowering his hand, but smiled nastily at the Doctor’s flinch all the same, and instead snatched the key back from the Doctor’s hand and got onto his radio, walking away and touching his earpiece, talking to low to be overheard.

The two soldiers then just let the Doctor drop where he was, in-between them. One pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the smell bringing the Doctor close to throwing up again. He had felt so tired and sleepy before he even broke in, that now, with a concussion, he merely just curled up in a tight ball on the floor between the two men, until the officer returned. He indicated the men to bring the Doctor to the main interrogation and prison block. He did not look at the Doctor, let alone speak to him.

They had gone up several flights of stairs now, and the Doctor’s legs felt leaden and heavy, but also quite like jelly, very wobbly and shaky. He wasn’t sure how much longer before the wobbling gave way to buckling and then failing completely, and no matter how much they shouted at him, or hit him, or pointed guns, he would not be able to walk. He was more frightened at how ill he seemed – he was never weak or ill! Well, hardly ever. Certainly he should be fitter and stronger than humans. However, he was sick, and that was far more terrifying that having guns pointed at him or threatened with being shot. They wanted him alive, that much was plain. They wanted him broken, but both alive and compos mentis, as they wanted faster than light, inertial dampeners, gravity nets, the works. He was fairly certain they were not interested in vivisection or experimentation. In this aspect, he felt safer with the Chinese than he would have the Americans. But as for what was wrong with him, he was more than a little afraid. He seemed to have got worse, not better, by the day. Although a full day in the saddle with little food would make both his legs heavy and jelly like and leave him a little faint.

Finally they entered a grey corridor with several unmarked doors, it ending with another stairwell at its end. The officer opened the third door on the left and he was dragged inside.

The room was large, painted white, with a desk, a chair one side with handcuffs, and three more comfortable looking chairs the other side of the desk. There was another table against the wall under a large rectangular mirror, obviously a window the other side. There were four cameras in the room’s corners and a large, angled, light pointed at the chair with cuffs. Unsurprisingly, he was pushed into the chair with the cuffs, which were quickly and roughly attached to his wrists.

The Doctor automatically tugged on them, to check them, but his hearts weren’t in it. He felt too dizzy and nauseous.

“Might I have a glass of water?” he asked, trying to catch the officer’s eye. It was something he frequently asked for over the centuries when captured and imprisoned, as the response was a good indication of how he would fair, of what rights or not existed and whether they would be honoured and respected. This time he really could have done with a drink, something with sugar and protein, more than just a simple glass of water, really. Although twice he had been able to dismount Khanna and fill up his empty tea bottle with spring water during his long journey, the last time had been some time again, so he was also terribly dehydrated, so even just water would have been very welcome.

“No!” snapped the Captain, and slapped the Doctor again. One of the guards actually drew a sharp intake of breath in, what felt like to the Doctor, shock.

Just then the door opened and another officer marched in. Both soldiers stood to attention and the captain hurriedly did so too, dropping his hand from where he was going to strike a second time.

“What is going on here?”

“Prisoner requested a glass of water, Sir.”

“Is that all? I assumed he had refused to cooperate. Have you refused to cooperate?” the Major asked, walking up to the chair. He lifted the Doctor’s head by his hair. “Have you?”

“I don’t know what you want.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I’m assured by my colleagues in Europe that you know exactly what we want. In fact, the Brigadier will be here soon.”

“Brigadier?” the Doctor was almost joyful, concussed as he was, it took him a moment or two to realise that it was a rank, not a name, and they didn’t mean his Brigadier. It was 2023, no doubt his Brig had probably passed away peacefully in his sleep by now. He wouldn’t have let his own country become fascist, if he had still been alive, so he would have fought until his last breath, however elderly and frail. Either way, he was dead. The Doctor sniffed hard as he was aware than tears were just rolling down his cheeks.

“How did you get here?” the Major demanded of him.

“I opened the door. You don’t lock it you know!” the Doctor replied with false brightness. 

It seemed like the Major did not disapprove of violence, as the Doctor had first thought. He was kicked in the stomach. He cried out as he rocked backwards with the chair, his wrists pulled by the cuffs. 

“Please, I don’t...” the Doctor pleaded.

“Listen, alien scum, none of your clever words, I’ve read all about you.”

“I haven’t said anything clever,” the Doctor replied quickly, suddenly very afraid. “I got trains. Lots of trains. I walked through the forest. Then I opened the door and followed my TARDIS. She called to me.”

“So this map didn’t help you? Who gave you this map? How did you evade notice until you got to your ship?”

“I gave it to me!” the Doctor shouted back, blinking as the light was switched on and shone in his face. His head swam and he felt sick and his abdomen was really sore, more than he would have expected. “Please, can I have some water? Please? I think I’m going...”

The Doctor fainted, but handcuffed as he was, he slid out of the chair with his arms still attached to the chair, pulling on his shoulders and his head bowed, almost crushing his chest. The soldier who had earlier gasped quickly moved to uncuff him.

“Did I give you permission solider? He’s faking!” the Major barked

“He isn’t!” the solider replied, undoing the cuffs and pulling the Doctor into the recovery position. The warm hands on the Doctor’s shoulders and chest and legs were comforting as the soldier assisted him. The Doctor tried to open his eyes to see who would dare to stand up to his commanding officers to show basic compassion, but he couldn’t, they were too heavy

“We’ll see about that!” the major snapped, and started to kick the Doctor in the back.

“Sir!” yelled the same soldier, angry. “I will inform the Brigadier!”

The Doctor was pulled into a frightening semi conscious state of pain by the kick and the yells, which grew more and more incomprehensible. He was aware of the door slamming and the captain yelling down the corridor as the major continued to yell at him about how he evaded capture until he got to the TARDIS. He kept passing out, only to be pulled semi conscious by another blow. The carpet tiles he lay on smelt of must and urine and he knew that any moment he was going to vomit again. He tried to focus on something, anything, but he couldn’t, he just road wave after wave of nausea, vertigo, and pain as he kept drifting in and out, awake, and then fainted, pain and dizziness, then blackness. He barely noticed the door open again until a loud voice shouted,

“What the fuck is this?” yelled a voice that the Doctor was sure he recognised yelled loudly. “Who authorised this?”

“You did. Sir!” the major answered, mercifully moving away from the Doctor.

“I did no such thing. You had my full authority to interrogate Professor Chan. Wait. You were to wait!”

“For information regarding space travel, etc., Sir. But with respect, Sir, I am commander of this base and this alien compromised our security. I am full within my rights to...

The Doctor swam out of consciousness again. When he opened his eyes, the man from the Brussels Embassy, this time in a People’s Army uniform, was knelt beside him, smoothing his hair off his face and regarding the bruising.

“Get him to sickbay. And Major, you are relieved pending an inquiry. Likewise you Captain. Report to your quarters, you are both confined until further notice. Out of my sight! Now! Don’t make me have you escorted!” he bellowed. The men obviously left because he turned to the Doctor, “Can you sit? How badly are you injured?” he looked up. “We need to get X-Rays and photographs, we need evidence. I’m going to see those psychopaths pay for over stepping the line.”

“No,” said another voice, this one was also familiar, from the half-remembered dreams of the tattoo, chip insertion, and being scanned. “No X-Ray. Ultrasound scan first. We need to check for internal damage first, as we might have to operate, depending on how badly he was kicked.”

The Brigadier pulled up the Doctor’s jumper and shirt and tee shirt and looked at the bruising that was already beginning to blossom across his back and ribs and stomach. The Doctor heard a gasp from the door, possibly from the man who had forbidden the X-Ray, or the soldier who has shown him compassion. The Brigadier nodded and stood. “I need a gurny to get the prisoner to the Infirmary as soon as possible. And I need someone to get me the best xeno-medical experts we have on the books, from Military, Space, IMC, or ANZAC, I don’t care which. Just the best!”

“Water?” the Doctor whispered.

“What?” the Brigadier dropped to his haunches again.

“Water? Please. All I want is a glass of water.”

“I’m sorry. Dr. Ling wants to make sure you won’t need surgery.”

“You can’t, I’m not human, I can’t, you might...”

“We’ll take the best care of you Doctor, I promise, we need all you can teach us. You’re safe now, as long as you cooperate, we will look after all...”

The Brigadier swam in and out of focus, both in the Doctor’s vision and hearing. When two med techs arrived with the gurney and tried to lift him, he passed out completely.

 

*

 

A sharp sting to his thumb awoke the Doctor. He immediately felt the cold gel and the pressure of another ultra sound scan in operation. He opened his eyes and rolled his head. A young woman was removing a small sharp from his thumb and smearing his blood onto a blood sugar register. She smiled slightly, and then said,

“He’s awake Dr. Ling.”

“Good. How is he?”

“No idea what is normal Sir, but his levels are only a 2.”

“Base readings indicated his physiognomy has a higher blood-sugar content. Everything is looking fine inside, thankfully, considering the Major’s ministrations. Glucose tablets, water, and some sweet tea, nurse. Then sort out a breakfast please. Something easily digestible.”

The Doctor turned his head on the mercifully soft and comfortable pillow and looked up. “You tattooed me,” he said.

“You remember that, do you? You were supposed to be drugged.” He completed the scan and replaced the wand and grabbed some paper towels and wiped the gel from the Doctor’s stomach.

“Am I fine? No injuries? You said you’d operate.”

“If I have to. To save you. Thankfully, all is well. Your...” Ling stared at the Doctor thoughtfully. “All your organs seem fine, I was particularly worried about your kidneys and spleen, among other things, the way that monster was kicking you. I’ve been looking at the reports on your companion’s injuries. Rest assured, he will pay.”

The Doctor frowned. “I thought... that is... never mind! Thank you!”

Ling pulled the Doctor’s tops back down and covered him with a blanket. “Ah, here is the nurse. Can you sit?”

“Um...?” the Doctor tried, and flopped back down, wincing in pain. He cried out as both Ling and the nurse managed to get him to sit up, propped up by pillows. He was immediately handed a glass of water, which he drank greedily, then two glucose tablets.

“Can you manage the tea now?” the nurse asked, handing him the delicate tea bowl. “I put sugar in it, too.”

“Thank you.”

“Dough sticks or noodles? It’s all I can offer, the kitchens in the sick bay are small.”

Although the nurse was asking the Doctor, Ling replied. “Dough sticks with some soya milk, I think. Get some carbs and protein in quickly. If he’s hungry afterwards, you can give him some instant noodles, but who knows what they put in those instant rations?”

“It’s just dehydrated food, Sir,” the nurse said, as she wandered back down the ward. It was empty apart from the three of them.

“Out of curiosity, how did you evade anyone seeing you?” Ling asked gently.

“The TARDIS key, it is connected to her chameleon circuit. I sort of melted into the walls,” the Doctor murmured, half smiling.

“And what would you have done?”

“Taken the TARDIS, dematerialised around Commander Chan Yu, and we’d have left.”

“You will be under constant guard now. Under constant watch. The guard on your time vessel has been tripled. Although I thought the violence perpetuated upon Professor Chan pointless, I will not hesitate to order his execution as a traitor if you refuse to cooperate. Is that understood?”

The Doctor nodded. “But I am a very stupid Time Lord, really. I call myself brilliant. And I am. But obviously not as brilliant as I thought, as I got caught again. But at home... I mean, you want me to come up with equations off the top of my head... Yu wanted to give them to you, you know?”

Ling stared at the Doctor coldly. “Really? I doubt that.”

“Perhaps the Doctor is right,” a voice said from behind them. It was the Brigadier. “I have begun to review the footage of Chan’s interrogations. The Major is a fool. Any scientific input is exactly what we need, whether from Chan or the Doctor. India are merely five weeks from making landfall on Mars now. We need your help Doctor, and I think you will give it.”

“Why? Why do you think that I would...?” the Doctor had sat up abruptly in anger, and tailed off as the room span and he came close to fainting again.

“Oh, I think you will do anything to protect your companion and yourself both. There’s two of you now, isn’t there?” the Brigadier looked at Ling, who nodded,

“Indeed Brigadier Laoh. Ah, here is the nurse again. Try to eat Doctor, you need to look after yourselves.”

The Doctor looked from one officer to the other, confused, and as understanding slid across his mind, he buried it in the deepest box in his sub conscious and swallowed the fear and instead carefully took the tray from the nurse. He smiled his thanks.

“Get a camera nurse,” Laoh snapped.

“Sir?”

“I want those injuries recorded as I will make complaints at the highest level. How can our alien... guest, be expected to cooperate after such mistreatment.”

“Mistreatment! Mistreatment!” the Doctor exploded, sitting up, but not quite so high or so quickly, a mouthful of dough crumbs spraying over the bed. “Being beaten is one form of mistreatment, but so is this!” he waved his wrist with the EuroCombine prostitution tag in it. “You forced me to... three times you abandoned me and left me with no choice but to...! To...! That! That is mistreatment!”

“We gave you a means of support. The Europeans mistreated you,” Laoh said primly.

“And the brothel? You’re telling me you didn’t know what would happen to me?” the Doctor yelled up at Laoh.

Laoh looked to Ling sharply. “That was not my idea,” he said briskly. “What is done is done. You have suffered and you need to be safe. We can keep you safe; we can even let you and Professor Chan go once you have given us what we need to establish a base on Mars first to mine its moons and the Belt.”

“The brothel yielded a better result, I feel,” Ling retorted. “Didn’t it Doctor? Threatening your companion or beating you up would make you stubborn. And dangerous. Are you stubborn now? Dangerous? Or maybe a more than a little damaged and broken. Certainly weak and powerless.”

“Perhaps Ling,” Laoh replied a little sadly.

“No!” yelled the Doctor. “I’m a Time Lord. You have no idea what hurting me will do! No idea what I will do. I have no idea what I will do...” 

He was silenced by Ling slapping his face. “A little bit too much talk and nothing to back it up, I see. Eat, you need to look after yourselves.”

“Pull up your top, first. I need to get the photographic evidence,” Laoh added.

The Doctor glared at both men angrily, then sighed, and put his tray to one side and slowly sat up, then knelt up, the covers falling on the floor. He raised his jumper, shirt, and tee shirt, to reveal angry purple bruising and quietly submitted to being photographed at several angles – torso, chest, back, and face, a living crime scene. He remembered Laoh reassuring him when he made it back after escaping from the Brothel, that he had not meant to be physically injured when they left him in the New Jungle the first time they abandoned him, drugged and chipped and tattooed. Whatever else was going to happen, whatever they would do to get the equations and information they wanted, he did not think that he was going to be physically harmed again.

Once the photos had been taken, the two men left, with a stern warning that there were cameras and guards everywhere, and the nurse was armed and had several different martial arts under her belt. She just smiled sweetly and picked up the blanket and tucked him in before handing him back his soya milk and dough sticks.

 

*

 

In the corridor Ling and Laoh argued the best way to get the intel they wanted, how to continue to break the Doctor. Eventually Ling stormed off and Laoh marched back into the infirmary, where the Doctor was curled up on his side, having found an analgesic from all those the nurse listed that would work with his metabolism rather than damage it: paracetamol. Not the strongest, but something, and it eased the pain in his back, abdomen, and face.

“I have found you the best xeno-doctor and best xeno-psychiatrist in all of China. They are Australians, and soon will be en route...”

“Why do I need a shrink? Do I look like I need a shrink? Are you calling me mad?” the Doctor yelled, sitting up again, regretting it again immediately and flopping back onto the pillows.

“You have been through a lot, Doctor, but she is more to help you understand it is in your interests to help us, as much as she will help you recover. And you do need help coming to terms with rape and prostitution and what it has done to you, don’t you?”

The Doctor glared at Laoh with contempt, then turned his back on him, curling back up into the foetal position again.

“Monitor his blood sugar, blood oxygen saturation, and blood pressure, Nurse. When he gets to his base line normal, have him put on ice. He can wait with his companion. I have seven guards on this floor, three outside waiting to escort him. Understand?”

“Perfectly Sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Violence. The Doctor is beaten up by his captors. Twice.


	13. Mostly Shanghai: From 4th November 2023 onwards

The Doctor was silent and brooding, Ace would almost say depressed, when they went back to the TARDIS. He sent them into the Vortex with no programmed coordinates, and then sank into the chair, looking suddenly like an old man, uncertain and unsure.

Benny looked at Ace, who nodded towards the inner door. “Shall I put the kettle on?” Benny asked with false cheer. “We could all do with a cup, I think.” Ace nodded to her as she walked past and then sat down on the floor in front of the chair and put her hands on his knees.

“Come on, we need to decide, rescue the alternative you, or sort out fascist Britain and frog face.”

“She left him, you know. Kate's mother. He never knew where his daughter was. And yet, here she is, running UNIT for him. Such a happy little girl, then...”

“Doctor. Forget Kate. Could have done with some Intel from British UNIT though. Couldn’t we have least stayed to look at their data base?”

A smile slowly crept onto the Doctor’s face, “Ah Ace, but we have.” He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and waved it at her. “A few hours ago I built in a data storage and hack application on my sonic screwdriver. All the while we were there I was downloading all the information and history from the UNIT mainframe concerning Britain from 2001 to 2023.”

Ace smiled too, and sat back on her heels, “So what’s next Professor?”

“Cup of tea, drop Benny off to continue faking our new personas, while I have quick a perusal of these files, then we’ll go to Shanghai and wait. I’m beginning to think that two Doctors are better than one in fighting either deliberately caused temporal schism or infarction or human manipulated British state fascism. Or both.”

*

They dropped Benny in Beijing in December 2022 for a week, and then just sat in the Vortex. The Doctor reviewed all notes and downloads and printouts from various sources and tried to backtrack to the divergence. While he did so Ace swam and rock climbed and slept, appearing twice a day for four days to produce tea and toast.

On the fifth day he leapt up from the easy chair in the library he seemed to have been glued to.

“No. It’s no good! It keeps going around my head! What Kate said! What if in his universe the Master and my roles are reversed...”

Ace snorted, even though she and not Kate had first voiced it. She’d long since realised it wasn’t possible. “Seriously Professor. Pretty boy is a soft, vulnerable, thing, who is suffering from shed loads of PTSD and post rape trauma. If he in anyway was like fuzz face, don’t you think there would be a lot of death in his wake? I mean, he may be weaker, but he is a Time Lord, he’s suffered coz the alternative scares him.”

“What would be the alternative, Ace?” the Doctor demanded archly.

“Frying the sexist, raping, pigs’ minds with a psychic attack. I’m not stupid Professor...”

The Doctor looked at Ace, startled, before sitting down, muttering, “Psychic, yes...” he looked up and smiled thinly at Ace, “You’re probably right Ace. I shall bathe and then we’ll pick up Benny and settle in Shanghai and wait for the Chinese Aerospace Industry Corporation, ANZAC-SEP, or even the Chinese Interplanetary Mining (Prospecting) Corporation, to call upon us.”

Ace rolled the letters of the last organization around in her head. The IMC? The fragging IMC at its birth? They were going up against a military with thousands years of state control behind them and the IMC? No wonder the Doctor expected skinny boy to fail and wanted to be covered and prepared. She had her IMC Mercenary Corp ident tags somewhere. She wondered if it would be useful...?

 

*

 

Benny walked into the TARDIS a lot more chipper than the previous time. “Who’d have thought the Beijing nightlife would be so interesting,” was all she said to the Doctor and Ace’s inquiring looks.

“Did you have any success?” the Doctor demanded.

“You work now in a Beijing hospital, but by June next year you will move to Shanghai, where we will finally meet and run a clinic together. I moved to Shanghai in ’22, and we’ve been corresponding since the 90s when I first graduated. We’ve both worked for UNIT; both are accredited members of ANZAC-SEP, both fully licensed to work in any part of China, both have Chinese residency.”

“Good,” the Doctor said, smiling. “And Ace?”

“Ex military. Refugee. Recruited out of the New Jungle by a Shanghai businessman and now employed by us.” 

“Excellent. Well done Benny,” the Doctor grinned.

Benny looked down at her new suitcase, then the one from Australia by the tea table. “If I have time, I’m going to unpack.”

“Then you had better re-pack. In fact I think we all should pack, I’ll be hiding the TARDIS once I set us up. Where do we live Benny?”

“A penthouse, on top of a hotel, room service included, it overlooks the bay.”

“Lovely,” Ace said. Benny and the Doctor looked to see if she was being sarcastic. She just smiled at them sweetly.

 

*

 

The penthouse took the whole top floor. They had a room each, a large living area and studies and consulting rooms. Ace had gym and pool platinum membership. She also had appropriate arms, which the Doctor, for once, did not scowl or berate her for. They had three balconies, a large kitchen, although they were free to order from the hotel kitchens at any time.

“You did good Benny,” Ace said, bumping shoulders with her companion, then dumping down her large rucksack and usual backpack next to Benny’s new wheeled suitcases. The Doctor had one battered satchel, but who knew how much he carried in it. Probably the kitchen sink. Or at least a train set. He placed it on one of Benny’s suitcases and pulled open the rucksack.

“H’m. Need to go shopping young lady. We are undercover. You’re Dr John Smith's, xeno-medicine expert, bodyguard. You need smart suits to hide your holster.”

“Holster? You’re arming Rambo-Girl?”

“Need must Benny. We’re in Terra Incognita, and we’re going against some very efficient, intelligent, and ruthless agencies and people. We want to get in and out and get my future self out as cleanly as possibly, leaving not a trace of another Doctor. If we vanish, let them assume we were some form of Gallifreyan CIA crack squad making sure they had no bio-data.”

“What about you?” Ace demanded.

The Doctor flipped open his satchel, and akin to Mary Poppins, pulled out three suit carriers. “Boring human male professional attire,” he said with a grin.

“Okay, fine,” Ace muttered, and flopped onto one of the large white sofas and switched on the television. It was showing a historical soap opera. A woman was pleading with her lawyer husband not to die in the paddy fields following his conscription under the Cultural Revolution. It was high melodrama, with soft focus and a dramatic musical score underlying the intense emotion.

“It’s almost ten in the morning, local time,” Benny said, sitting down on the opposite sofa. “Shall we order Dim Sum for three?”

“Lovely. Lapsang souchong for me.” the Doctor jumped onto the sofa next to Ace and picked up the remote. 

“Oi!”

“I just want to glance at the news.”

“What’s the point? It’s a massive dictatorship isn’t it?”

“I want to know what is happening in Europe and Australia, I doubt the Party needs to put a spin on corrupt businessmen with global power ambitions or natural disasters in East Europe.”

“What?”

“I’ve been here before Ace. Sadly, I didn’t pay attention, even to the date. I can only say in my defence I was very, very, young and naive. I think I’m due to arrive in a day or two, and I’d like to know what I was getting myself into.”

“Does that even make sense?” Benny asked, before picking up the phone and ringing the kitchens and ordering Dim Sum for three. She had become rather addicted to the little bits of pastry and dough and dumpling with all kinds of delicious fillings served with tea over the past week.

 

*

 

That night Ace awoke with a sense that something was wrong. She padded out of her room and across the open plan living space. One of the balcony windows was open, letting in the cold wintery air.

The Doctor stood stock still on the balcony, his hands gripping the railing tightly, a rim of frost beginning to cover him, his head hung down.

“Professor, come in,” Ace began, and crept closer.

He face was hidden by his hat, but by ducking she could see his eyes were tight shut and his mouth moving, as he muttered words. Tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks, unheeded and unchecked, probably unrealised.

“...me,” he mouthed. “The Doctor.” 

“Shrouded. 

“Perhaps this Rassilon hid this universe’s Gallifrey. Perhaps he had the same idea and was beaten to it?”

Ace stood there, beside him, barely hearing his whispered, mouthed, muttered words, words his mind was forming. He was having a telepathic conversation with someone, she guessed.

“Makes it easier not to tell how cold you are to them though. So useful. Humans are so hot,” he whispered.

“Sometimes it’s worth it... Jamie!.. Beard. Probably,” he muttered sadly, with lengthy, empty silences in-between

“Daleks?” he said aloud, horrified, after a long while.

“Of course,” he seemed to reassure, he had the ‘I’m not lying at all tone’, which meant he was, to whoever this person he was communing with was. Ace guessed probably the other Doctor.

“A good voice. You could have a similar one if you chose, instead of your mock Shobogan one,” he mouthed. Ah, he was talking to skinny boy. “Don’t distract yourself Doctor. Twin universes...?” he went on. Definitely then, Ace decided, stepping a little closer to him, to warm him.

She got so cold, however, she went in to make some tea to warm him when he came out of his trance or whatever it was, and came back out wrapped in a blanket. As she left the balcony she thought she heard him say her name, but when she looked back he was still deep in his trance or whatever it was.

“So the CVEs are open?” he was asking quietly as she came back to the balcony. She stood by the door, awaiting him, a good sergeant at arms, waiting being needed. She wondered if he was sharing the rape, holding the other together.

“Sleep Doctor. Sleep now,” the Doctor said gently, the tears now streaming down his face.

After a beat, he opened his eyes. He looked up, startled, when he saw Ace, his eyes an unnatural brilliant blue, swimming in unshed tears. She decided to pretend she had just got there.

“You been standing there all night Professor?” she asked.

“Yes.” He turned to look at her, his face wet with many tears. “Contact was made,” he added coldly. Ace felt that if he didn’t make his voice cold he would weep and shake.

“Need a hug Professor,” Ace asked, stepping near him, holding out her arms.

The Doctor nodded, and released the rail and turned to her, letting the slightly taller Ace hold him tightly. After a while, Ace took off the blanket from around her own shoulders and wrapped the Doctor up tightly, to warm him.

“I made tea,” she said.

 

*

 

It soon became a boring interlude; they spent the best part of three weeks waiting for contact, establishing their personas. The Doctor even had the occasional patient, which Ace was concerned for, considering she understood his human medical degree came from Edinburgh sometime in the 1870s or something. Benny toured the city and its libraries and museums, wrote notes and her diary, read and drank rather a lot of both rice wine and tea. The Doctor went off a few times in the TARDIS, finally returning by train, promising them that he had the TARDIS safe and hidden, having triggered the HADS and its DITO ( Defence Indefinite Timeloop Option), the kind that the other Doctor’s TARDIS had triggered herself soon after falling into the hands of the Chinese military and Space programme. He told neither Benny nor Ace where he had left her, sitting half a millisecond out of phase with the rest of time. When he wasn’t off doing who knew what or having patients, he watched the TV news channels obsessively, looking for references to a Mexican businessman and politician called Salamander and reference to his younger self and Jamie and Victoria. Ace bided her time; she swam and worked out, and joined a group of mostly elderly Chinese neighbours to do Tai Chi on the roof garden. It was bracing and frosty, but it calmed and focused her mind and stopped her going loopy or drinking too much, like Benny. Although, to be fair to her, Benny was also doing the boring job of monitoring military and space secure channels to know when they might be called on.

 

*

The Doctor first went to follow a little niggle at the back of his mind, picking at his subconscious ever since he had hacked into the KGB in Moscow, his suspicions realised within minutes of his materialising in the back gardens of a apartment block complex on the outskirts of Brussels in the early hours of a morning, when a middle aged, balding, but still fit, tall, white, man came rushing out of the third block, across the car park and gardens and banged on the TARDIS door,

“Doctor! Doctor! You made it! You came back!

“Not the Doctor you are hoping for, I fear. Hello,” the Doctor said, opening the door and lifting his hat, “Commander Anton Pavel Roschenkov, I assume? We haven’t met. Or yet, I assume? Come in...” the Doctor stood back, and gestured with a flourish of his arm and a wide grin.

Anton came carefully and slowly in, taking in the size of the huge console room compared to the tiny phone booth on the grass. Then he looked down at the short man, the middle aged looking man, the man in the white linen suit and hat, who looked absolutely nothing like the Doctor he had known, and yet somehow felt like him, in some strange, indefinable, way.

“You’re the Doctor?” he asked, confused.

“At your service. I’m afraid there has been both a mix up with timelines and with dimensions. Tell me about your Doctor please. I’m trying to help him. I assume you did the same, hiding all the information you had gained concerning the Chinese, his TARDIS, and their experimentation.”

Anton stood, stock-still. The Doctor sensed some great emotion, heartbreak even. “You were one of his clients, perhaps? You felt more than lust, maybe? I’m sorry I’m not him.

“Yet, at any rate,” the Doctor added with a sad smile, as Anton didn’t respond, but still struggled to control his face. Eventually he found a stoic mask of indifference and replied carefully, stumbling over his words, even as his face no longer betrayed him,

“I know about regeneration. I’ve read about it in your files. I would be prepared for... but you are younger, yet you look older. I had thought... I had hoped... that is, I had asked... but he has Commander Chan Yu, he had no need of me,” Anton finished miserably.

“Sit down Commander. Please. Tea?” the Doctor said gently, patting him on the arm, still smiling.

Anton seemed to pull himself together, and spotted a tea table, with two armchairs and three wickerwork ones, incongruously arranged to the right of the hexagonal control console, and headed to them. He sank down and sighed heavily.

“What do you need?” he asked emptily.

“I know it is highly irregular, and Blinovitch would have much to say on the matter, but I am trying to rescue my future self. Sadly I met him – myself as it were – after he had suffered a lot already, but I want to get his TARDIS and his companion out of Base 27 in one piece. You are both an UNIT Black Ops operative and a KGB agent. You obscured all you had discovered regarding the Chinese and the Doctor. I’d like to know why you did that and if there is anything you can tell me in the way of help?”

Anton grinned up at the Doctor, who was standing in front of the small table. “Intel. You want Intel, and that I can give you in abundance. Thanks to the Doctor I am now a triple agent, working for the Chinese also. What do you need?”

“Anything, anything concerning Base 27, plans for the Doctor and Commander Chan Yu, military and science and ancillary staff numbers, names of those in charge, anything... might I pour you a tea, Commander?” the Doctor added, sitting down in the adjoining armchair.

“Tea would be lovely. And will you... could you... Just tell the Doctor, I’m here if he needs me, if he... If Chan doesn’t make it, if the Commander doesn’t mind sharing, if...”

The Doctor put his hand on Anton’s to still him. “I’m not sure if he will want to come back. It’s a matter of how he met you, of not wanting to look back...”

Anton looked down. “He was raped. The Chinese arranged for it. I was of no use. No help at all. And yet...” Anton looked into those deep blue eyes, crinkling at the edges with sympathy and kindness, at the kind of naughty pixie face that was sort of cute... Anton caught himself looking and thinking, and looked away with a cough.

“Drink your tea and tell me anything that can help him, and then I’ll give you a tour of the ship and then one trip, anywhere in time and space, you choose...” the Doctor offered, smiling widely, looking at Anton speculatively, patting his thigh...

 

*

 

Ace was on her way to the pool when the TARDIS returned. It had been gone when she had got up at before dawn, and been missing all day. The Doctor had parked it in the far corner of the large living space as soon as they had moved in. Benny had been angry he’d not left a note, but Ace was philosophical these days. She trusted him now, as strange as it still seemed to her.

The door opened and the Doctor’s head popped out, grinning. What had she said, ‘I can smell it on you?’. Well she could, a kind of psychic smell, but even if she couldn’t, he was inordinately cheerful and bouncy. She’d accused him of only doing it for means, for manipulation, but she wondered if she was wrong, or he had wanted to prove... he was happy anyway!

“Hello Ace. Can’t stop, but I wanted to hand you all this. It is as much data as I could gather on Base 27 and their little projects on the other TARDIS and Doctor. Met a charming Russian agent, he’d met the other me. Quite quite charming.” He grinned at Ace, and placed a flash drive and a pile of notes and a bulging plastic document wallet in her hands, and then went back into the TARDIS, whistling cheerfully, before he slammed the door and dematerialised.

“What was that about?” Benny slurred, stumbling in from her bedroom, wrapped in a quilt, bleary eyed and hung over.

“Intel,” Ace said, “and I think, bingo!”

Benny’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise, before she said dryly, raising an eyebrow, “Lucky Doctor. Let’s have a look at the Intel them, best be prepared.”

 

*

 

Chan Mai had been used to being housebound for so long, and probably watched online too, for as long as her son had started working for the Ministry of Space Exploration, so she had little problem adjusting. The police guard vetted any visitors, and they grew few and far between. Shops did not like to deliver, so these days she gave the money and the shopping list to one of the officers outside once a week. All this she had borne miserably and without hope until a few weeks ago, when she had one short phone call from Europe.

Her son was alive! It was as they said; he had disappeared, not blown up – although that had been the official story. She had been amazed as Yu had told her of the Doctor, of the strange alien who had found him on a primitive planet two galaxies away, how he had used his circus skills to entertain all sorts of strange sounding aliens. It had sounded so weird, so unlikely, so bizarre. She had tried not to listen to Yu over the years, all he illegally watched and read – Science Fiction and Fantasy had been illegal in China for decades, a silly Western decadence, to run away from reality...

Except this had been reality. 

Four days after she heard from him, Li had visited, had been told among other things, her fiancé was an unnatural, a homosexual, and had been charged with unnatural acts with a foreign devil, along with all kinds of other charges of treason and contamination of foreign ideals and ideas. Although technically not illegal, it was socially and culturally disapproved off, and still illegal in the People’s Army, in which Yu was nominally and once honourably an officer in. They had interrogated her for hours, but finally they realised that she knew nothing, and she was calling as a courtesy for the respected woman who would no longer be her mother-in-law, as she had to break the engagement. Li glanced worriedly and afraid, all the time, at the window, so Mai had reached up and pulled the slight woman down so she could hug her tightly, to whisper into her ear it was okay, to wish her good fortune and bid her a farewell.

Mai was no fool, she knew what her son was, knew too that Li was equally inverted and they had come to an arrangement. Li’s flatmate was far more than that. She hoped Li would find another man to protect her and her girlfriend. As for her son, her heart was so heavy...

Mai remembered all these things as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, praying in her head to the ancestors that they would protect her son, send a protector, make the government and the CAIC and IMC and whoever else held sway over Yu’s life would realise that they needed him, needed his cleverness and his space expertise. That they were probably torturing him for the information and science, she tried not to think of, however it seeped into her mind all the time, sometimes so much that she forgot to breathe. Her heart was so heavy in her chest; it was like she had an elephant sitting there.

She closed her eyes and let it happen, in case this time it was a heart attack and not an anxiety one.

Strange, she could hear elephants. A herd of them, strangely electronic, and she could feel a breeze blowing in from the living space into her small sleeping one.

Mai reached up and pulled on the pulley and handles above her bed and got herself sitting up, and swung her lifeless legs to the side, reaching for her chair and lifting herself in by the same pulley, got into her chair and quickly wheeled into the larger room of her tiny bungalow...

A large rectangular box stood there, dark blue with Roman lettering on it. Just as Yu had described it before they had been cut off.

The TARDIS.

The door opened and a smallish white man of indeterminate age stepped out, raising his white hat, walking down a small ramp that extended from the door with a quiet whirr. He looked down at his feet, smiled and patted the door of the box, telling it, ‘well done’. He looked nothing like the man Yu had described. 

“Good afternoon Madam Chan,” he said in perfect Mandarin.

“Doctor?” she asked in disbelief.

“Ah, there lies a complexity of explanations Madam. I am indeed the Doctor, but I am not the Doctor who belongs to your son. Does that make sense?”

“Is that the TARDIS?” she demanded, confused but wanting to not show it.

“It is indeed a TARDIS, but not the one Yu travelled in. You have been in bed?”

“I spend a lot of time there, it hurts to get up, and why make the effort?”

The small Western looking alien looked around him, “The curtains are still closed. Good.”

“Why?”

“I am rescuing you dear lady. If that is agreeable to you.”

Mai took a deep breath. “How? Why?”

“My colleagues and I have set up identities to get into a certain location where your son, the Doctor, and his time machine, will all soon all be held. It might take a while before we are able to rescue all three. In the meantime, I do not want you to be held as a threat to Commander Chan Yu, or worse, actually hurt. I can take you somewhere else, some planet in the future, one settled by Chinese descended settlers, so you will not feel out of place, somewhere you can teach your circus skills, somewhere where there may even be surgery for your broken spine...” he stopped and looked at her, a shy smile on his face. “If that is okay?”

“They will know I am gone.”

“Eventually. If we put the lights, the TV and computer, the bathroom, the kettle and cooker and all the implements of daily living on timers, they will assume you are lying in bed depressed, occasionally bathing, using the facilities, eating and drinking, watching or reading some entertainment.”

“And you can do that?” Mai demanded, thinking it all through. If he could do all he said... but what was she leaving behind? Nothing but anxiety, pain, loneliness, and isolation. A useless cripple and widow, a burden, a thing to be pitied, who no longer had a son that was respected but who was despised. Although, to the neighbours and family, she had long ago lost her son to an explosion in the upper atmosphere. She was tired of holding her tongue in fear, of being watched and imprisoned for what her son may have done, or may know.

“Oh yes,” the Doctor beamed a silly grin, showing twisted teeth. Mai, making her decision, couldn’t help but smile back. “And of course, as soon I have rescued them, I will bring your son and his Doctor to see you.”

“Yes please,” Mai said quietly, not quite recognising the hope and relief springing in her heart and mind. “Can you help me pack?”

“Of course.”

 

*

The Doctor materialised the TARDIS one last time half a mile from the hidden small traffic doorway of Base 27 in the foothills of the mountains. There, cropping at tuffs of tough grasses and young bamboo shoots, tethered loosely to a huge bamboo, was the white horse he had arranged for his future self. 

“Hello girl,” he said, smiling, and mounted. From there it was a day’s ride back to the village, a night under the old man’s roof, a friend from the past, when Ace was still an angry, mixed up, girl, and Mao was still ruling China. After a breakfast of rice noodles, it was a bus ride to Xichang, an eight hour train ride to Chengdu, a night in a very splendid tourist hotel, chatting about pandas to a group of elderly New Zealanders and Indonesians, a little shop for food and toiletries, then an 18 hour journey on the bullet train to Beijing, followed but a slightly shorter bullet train ride to Shanghai, and a taxi back to the penthouse.

While he had been in travelling transit, Hungary had erupted with both a massive earthquake and three exploding volcanoes. The first thing he did, ignoring Ace and Benny’s exclamations of ‘hellos’ and ‘where were yous’, was to switch on the news. The small group of mostly white, western, scientists, and their teenage children, who had been in the bunker since the America-Korea three-day conflict five years before, were being evacuated to Canberra. Almost a week on, the ticker tape ran with all that had been uncovered about Salamander’s manipulations of the environment and economy and UN and national and trans national ministries, of murder and corruption of high level EuroZone and UN Europe diplomats, ministers, and civil servants, along with full-scale bribery of the Australian and Russian governments. Of Salamander himself, there was no sign; it was if he had vanished from the Earth.

The Doctor sank down into one of the large white sofas and closed his eyes.

Vanished indeed, shredded by the time winds. To this very day, the Doctor could close his eyes and remember the Vortex aging and de-aging and ripping him apart, shielding young Victoria and Jamie’s eyes, unable to look away himself, his own curiosity haunting his nightmares for centuries to come...

As he did so, he felt it in the pit of his stomach, in the skip of his hearts, in the pressure in his brain. His Second persona was departing, having dealt with Salamander, running away, dematerialising and leaving the mess behind. He felt time crystallise around him, making saving Britain so much harder as it became Recorded Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the above, of course, refers to the Second Doctor story The Enemy of the World


	14. 26th November 2023, moving toward one another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning below

A day later Benny put down her primitive com, her ‘iphone 12’, and looked across the penthouse room at Ace lounging on the sofa watching TV, and the Doctor sitting in the French windows of the balcony, watching the rain pour over Shanghai.

“We’re on,” she said.

*

The door was opened with a clang. Yu, conditioned now after weeks imprisoned leapt to his feet from the mattress he had been sitting cross-legged on, juggling his cup, plate, and bowl.

Someone was pushed into his cell, landing on his knees, putting his hands out to catch himself as he fell. He cried out, high pitched and in pain. Yu took a step forward to help him, when the man looked up.

“Doctor!” he cried out, hurrying across the room to help him to his feet. The Doctor’s hair was flat, his hair falling over his face in a long fringe, and he was dressed in a baggy jumper over skin-tight black jeans with purple Converses. He had a bruise on his cheek over a cut, as well as a split lip and another bruise on his forehead just above his left eye. There was no doubt in Yu’s mind that black eyes were also forming under the skin.

“Yu! Commander Chan Yu! I’m rescuing you!” the Doctor said, slurring his words, before his legs buckled.

Yu caught him and half-carried him to the mattress and sadly looked at the very locked door, “Thanks babe, but I don’t think it went according to plan.”

“Not quite dearest, not at all. I’m sorry.” The Doctor pulled away from Yu and brought his knees to his chin and, hugging himself, and began to rock. “You have no idea how much I have to apologise for.”

“Nothing!” Yu said fiercely. “You have nothing to apologise for at all. Never think that you do. We’re together. The TARDIS is hiding herself but now you’re here...”

The Doctor stared at Yu. “Ah, about that...” he began, tailing off and looking again at Yu intently. “You know, don’t you?”

*

Doctor John Smith, ANZAC-SEP’s finest Xeno-Medical Expert, dressed in a dark blue suit and old fashioned European style hat, from the twentieth century most likely, with pale blue shirt and swirled patterned tie, carrying a brief case of brown leather, presented himself, along with Professor Bernice Summerfield, his colleague, partner, and expert in Xeno-Psychology, dressed in a short skirt suit of green over a soft green cardigan and tee shirt with knee high flat brown boots carrying a soft black laptop case and Khaki canvas shoulder bag, at the front reception desk of Space Command, Beijing, at 0900 as requested. Their faces matched those on the email instructions to her that morning. However, they were accompanied by a stern faced young women with a severe, functional, plait pulling her soft brown hair off her face, dressed in a black women’s trouser suit over a white blouse and black army boots. The hang of her jacket and the glimpse of the low-slung female shoulder holster told the receptionist she was armed. She also was pulling suitcases with both hands and had a functional army knapsack on her back. Her eyes were hidden by wraparound shades.

“Who is this?” asked Shang Lilu, standing and towering above the small, strange, white scientist.

“This is Ms McShane, our PA. She has the highest clearance. She’s also our bodyguard, and takes her duties very seriously,” he replied, rolling his 'r' sounds in a strange way in his otherwise perfect Mandarin.

Lilu spoke into her earpiece, asking after Ms McShane, and sighed. “This way, ladies and gentleman,” she said, and led then to the lift straight up to the roof and helipad. “Base 27 and Brigadier Laoh are expecting you.”

*

They had curled up and hugged for hours, neither really knowing how to tell the other what had happened, the Doctor chatting nineteen to the dozen about the people, the refugees, he had met on his journey across Europe, and the kindness of ordinary people he had met travelling though China, but eventually his words had dried up and he hugged Yu so tightly, and Yu had just stroked his hair and talked about the rat he had befriended in his cell, until the Doctor was still enough to almost be asleep. Yu looked down at the head on his chest. The Doctor was indeed asleep, which was very unlike him. 

Yu stared at the ceiling and worried about what the Doctor had been through but was not talking about, and wondered why on Earth he had told him about all the videos of horror that he had been shown during interrogation. He had only alluded to what had been on them, but the Doctor had begun to shake and had every idea what had been on them. Yu felt sick with guilt for mentioning them, but he had wanted the Doctor to know he knew, some of it, any way. What he, himself, had been through in the way of physical and mental torture, he had no words for. Why expect the Doctor to talk? Was he a hypocrite, he wondered, guiltily. 

He looked down at the Doctor’s sleeping face. He had the odd facial tick, and murmured and cried out, and at one point, tears actually rolled down his face unaware, falling from his sleeping eyes. He certainly was not sleeping easily, but he was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. Yu had never known the Doctor exhausted. He also realised he had never seen him without eye-make, mascara at least, but often eyeliner and/or eye shadow. He looked naked and vulnerable, and older. In fact, although the Doctor sometimes fell into a post-coital, satisfied, doze in his arms, he was never in bed when Yu awoke. He had never known him sleep so heavy.

Eventually Yu had fallen asleep too. He awoke to hear the Doctor vomiting in the toilet in the corner on the room.

“Doctor?” Yu asked worriedly.

“I’m fine,” the Doctor replied, wiping his face with his sleeve and crawling miserably back to the mattress.

Yu put his arm around the Doctor and pulled him back down to lie next to him. The Doctor laid his head back on his chest and curled his long, skinny, leg around Yu’s thigh. Yu stroked his new floppy hair, pushing it off his face. He was cold and clammy, a sure sign of a Time Lord fever.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine in a bit. Promise. Go back to sleep.”

They lay next to each together in silence. Yu stared at the ceiling and the camera in the corner of the room. He hadn’t pointed it out but he was sure the Doctor must have noticed it. He was, after all, the Doctor.

They lay in silence for a while.

The Doctor had closed his eyes to try to stop the room from spinning and swallowed more bile. After a while, he couldn’t bear the silence in the room or the noise in his head and he spoke numbly.

“I told you about Aafreen and her family?”

“You would have died without them. You told me about Aalimah too. She sounds awesome. I think we should go back for her if – I mean when! When we get out of here.”

“I mean all she went through. And the fact her husband is just going to accept her two youngest children as his own.”

“He has no choice, she was hardly unfaithful, was she?” Yu said, still staring up at the ceiling. He watched a spider weave a web over the camera lens.

“Lots of men wouldn’t. Especially in such a culture.”

“I should think he loves her and is glad she is safe.” Yu wondered if this was a test, something to do with all that the Doctor had been through. They had not talked about it properly at all, all Yu had said was he had been showed some videos and knew what the tattoo meant and was just glad to see the Doctor alive and safe, and that had been enough immediately, the Doctor shaking violently had been enough for them both to move on and talk of other things. However he wished so much the Doctor would open up and talk, but it wasn’t really his style. Not straight away, at least. The Doctor had been equally happy to see him alive, he’d been told that he was going to be executed and his organs harvested for rich transplant patients. Yu was still afraid it might happen, after all, they had taken his bloods and bone marrow, and he knew prisoners were executed to order. They may be just issuing empty threats, or they may not have found a match yet. They certainly didn’t need him for any equations or the TARDIS now they had the Doctor here too. This he had not shared with the Doctor.

“Could you do that? Do you think? Take a child who wasn’t yours?” the Doctor now asked carefully.

“What is this? Anthropology,” Yu sat up, pushing the Doctor’s head off his chest angrily. “I know you guys do it by looms or something but...”

“Yu!” the Doctor snapped. “Indulge me! Just answer the question. Could you?”

“I’m gay Doctor. In an ideal world, if I thought about children, I’d adopt, so yes.”

“You were engaged, you said, when...”

“Li was going to be my beard. I’m so sorry I said it like that. I was looking for a way to hurt you. In case you’ve not noticed, being a homosexual is almost illegal in China, it was completely until a few years ago, it still is in the Party and the Army... I needed to hide my sexuality to get on. If Li had an affair and got pregnant, then sure, it would add to my hetero badge of honour, wouldn’t it? If it made her happy too. After all, it’s her body, not mine. The engagement is broken, obviously, I’m completely dishonoured, considered a traitor...”

“I meant, if Li was raped, would you...?” the Doctor interrupted urgently.

“Doctor! What is this? I love you, and I’m trying to cope with the fact that you’ve been... been raped more than once since I last saw you, since I’ve been locked up here or Beijing or Shanghai or Brussels! Whatever you’ve been through...”

“But would you?”

“I don’t want to think about Li raped, okay? I might not be in love with her or be sexually attracted to her, but she’s a friend. A good friend.” Yu looked down at the Doctor, who was propped up by his elbow, staring at him intently with burning hazel eyes. “Yes,” he said quickly. “If she wanted to keep the child. If she wanted an abortion or have it adopted, I’d support that to. It’s her body and her trauma; this theoretical Li married to a theoretical straight me. Okay? I would support her with what she decided, with what she needed. And I’ll help you Doctor, support you, okay? You will get through this, all right? We need to think more practically about escaping first though. I know you are usually more on the ball on priorities, but...”

“Are you saying I’m crazy?” the Doctor snapped archly.

“I’m saying you’re in shock. Shell shock. PTSD.”

“And you’re not?”

“Of course I bloody am!” Yu yelled back, standing up and grabbing his head, going to run his fingers through his hair, forgetting it was razored horribly short.

“I’m sorry...” the Doctor said, sitting up quickly, trailing off to cover his mouth with his hand. He made it to the toilet just in time. Yu quickly came over to him and held his newly flat, floppy, hair out of the Doctor’s face.

“I’m sorry too,” he whispered.

 

*

 

The Doctor hadn’t spoke during the whole flight, just staring out of the window, his face shadowed, brooding and dark, by his hat brim, lost in thoughts. Benny had taken out the primitive comp, the ‘laptop’, and opened up the notes the Doctor had given her on this time and country’s culture and mores. She thought it was ironic that she was supposed to be the expert on the psychology on the Chinese’s alien prisoner – how was she supposed to understand this other Doctor, this future one from another dimension. She couldn’t figure out what went on in her own Doctor’s head. 

When they had arrived, originally in south England in 2022, the Doctor had been so horrified. They had done several short hops after that, with the Doctor going out of the TARDIS alone, or with Ace. Naturally she wasn’t allowed to be trusted with his machinations. There had been many, many, more such stops after the Doctor had deposited her in Shanghai for some research for him, of that she was certain. She had been gone hours, Ace and the Doctor days. She gathered that he couldn’t quite figure out if they were in another universe, which the TARDIS had drifted sideways into without his express piloting or his realising the error or breakdown. Certainly nothing had grabbed it and pulled them across dimensions, that they would all have felt when in flight. The discovery of this other Doctor had complicated matters. The Doctor had also discovered two other Time Lords, or one Time Lady and one Time Lord, both from his own personal timeline, both from his past, centuries younger than him, and after establishing neither had anything to do with the wrongness of Time, he had decided both needed no action, delegating one to the other Doctor and giving the other a wide berth. The Time Lord had made Ace angry and irritable, but she wouldn’t tell Benny why and had called the Doctor a pathetic idiot a couple of times. Benny had no clue as to why.

The presence of both Time Lords had confirmed that he probably was in their universe, but how he knew for sure from that one simple fact he would not explain, naturally. After he had first made contact with this other Doctor, then he was supposed to be going to get on with finding the source of the time meddling and go back and stop it, but he seemed to have got sidetracked with rescuing his future almost self. 

All this Benny had had to figure out long after the event. Neither he nor Ace told her anything, even letting her make a crukking idiot of herself with the other Doctor, touching him up for Goddess sakes, like a drunken sleaze!

*

Yu slept again. Only knowing that the Doctor was safe with him, did he realise he had barely been sleeping for weeks in captivity, and as soon as the Doctor had laid his damp, cold, head back on his shoulder and literally fallen asleep immediately after his second bout of vomiting, Yu had drifted back off to sleep too. He woke to soft kisses on his face and neck. He opened his eyes, startled. The Doctor was straddling him, leaning over and kissing him, undoing the scratchy grey Revolutionary guard prison shirt and working his way down with kisses.

“Doctor?” he asked. “Are you sure about this? We’re not exactly alone and after all you’ve been through...”

“I want to feel you inside me every way you can,” the Doctor murmured, slipping his fingers under his waistband and pulling his trousers down and kissing his naval. “In my body and in my mind...” he whispered before putting his mouth around the head of Yu’s cock.

Yu sat up, pulling away abruptly, in shock, and pushed the Doctor away violently. He pushed with more aggression and strength than he intended and the Doctor skidded across the floor and banged his hip, shoulder, and side of his head, into the wall. Yu stood up and started to walk towards the Doctor angrily.

“What the fuck are you doing? You’ve been raped! There are fucking cameras in here!”

As he walked towards the Doctor, the Doctor dropped to a crouching position and covered his head with his arms. “Don’t hit me!” he yelled.

Yu stopped in his tracks. “Hit you?” he asked, horrified. “Hit you? I would never...”

“You did!” the Doctor answered, standing up and glaring at him, shouting. “You hit me! It’s why I brought you here, I told the TARDIS to follow your psi trail and you brought us to this other universe! The wrong universe! All because you hit me!”

“I never hit you! I slapped you! And I’m sorry, okay? If I could undo that! But what the hell do you mean, wrong universe?” Yu yelled back.

“This is not my universe! Even if it’s yours! Plus time is gone awry! And we’re stuck here, and they’ve broken me. Broken me! I wanted to heal myself, I wanted you Yu, someone who loves me, inside my MIND as well as my body! I wanted to meld, to bond, not just to fuck! I wanted you to go where all those men went and make it okay. But you don’t love me, I can see that, human males don’t love, they just rut like animals, you were just using me to get home and...”

In a heartbeat Yu crossed the gap on the floor between them and pressed his fingertips aggressively onto the Doctor’s face, seeking out the psi points the Doctor had shown him when they first made love.

“Feel me. I love you. I love you Doctor. Love you. Feel me. Feel me inside you! Feel my love!” he shouted angrily in the Doctor’s face.

The Doctor crumbled in his arms, beginning to cry silently, “You do. You do. You do,” he repeatedly desperately, as he slipped down the wall. Yu let go of his face and caught him.

 

*

 

Ace enjoyed the chopper ride to Base 27. She loved helicopters, all the future tech of exo atmosphere hoppers and shuttles couldn’t beat the chop-chop-chop of the rotor blades magically slicing through the air and somehow making it fly. Da Vinci dream absurdity writ large. She loved the views, rivers, mountains and forests, cities and villages, paddy fields, and fields of vegetables and tea bushes, modernity and antiquity and nature all stretched below her, just as the Doctor had said before. China was impossible huge. She loved it. She occasionally asked their pilot to tell her what they were going over, and ignored the Doctor’s brooding or Bernice’s’ sulking. The Doctor’s plan for getting in was working perfectly. What she had no idea about was how they could get the other Doctor, his companion, his TARDIS, his belongings, and themselves all out safely. It was the middle of bloody nowhere, she realised, as the chopper banked and she saw the entrance to the under mountain base, miles from any civilisation, even a primitive track way or village...

 

*

Yu was horrified at the violence of the Doctor’s heart wrenching sobs. The Doctor was given to silent tears he pretended weren’t there, as the Doctor was good at ignoring his feelings, that was something Yu had learnt over the past six months travelling with him. But he had never seen him so broken and emotional, a complete wreck, as the Doctor just clung to him and sobbed. He tried to struggle out of Yu’s grasp as much as he held onto him, wanting to try to hit himself and smash himself against the wall, as it he was trying to stop the feelings overwhelming him, but Yu would have none of that. Eventually he got them back to the mattress and half pulled the Doctor onto his lap and rocked him, holding him tightly, until the storm abated.

Once the tears stopped, Yu expected the Doctor to pretend it had never happened, but instead he whispered into Yu’s chest,

“I don’t know what to do.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to get us out. I was focused on getting to the TARDIS then dematerialising, then materialising around you, then just going. I failed, and here I am, with you, and they really have broken me. I may as well give them what they want. But I can’t...”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Yu said sadly, thinking of all he had worked on for almost a decade for the his country’s space exploration and settlement Twenty Year Plan, all he could have given, all he had seen travelling with the Doctor, all the torture he had suffered, stubbornly refusing to give what he had planned to give freely, due to their treatment of the Doctor. He was also terrified. The Doctor always knew what to do. Or, if he didn’t, he bullshitted with excellent bravado until he did. He held the Doctor more tightly and kissed the top of his head and lay them down, spooning around the now almost foetal Doctor. “You will think of something. You must!” he whispered in the Doctor’s ear. “You’re the Doctor, you’ll find a way.”

“I don’t feel like the Doctor,” he replied sadly, running a finger over the black rose tattoo, drawing circles around it, suddenly digging his nails in. Yu pulled his hand away from his wrist and stilled it.

“You are the Doctor!” he said firmly. “There will be a way!”

 

*

 

Like James Bond, or perhaps Thunderbirds, a massive hidden doorway slid open in the old, dried out, rice paddy terrace and the chopper descended through. Ace looked across at the Doctor and Benny. Benny gave her a weak grin, but the Doctor’s face was grim, dark, shadowed by his hat and lit creepily by the dashboard lights behind him, and creased with sadness and pain. He sighed deeply and caught Ace’s eye after the engines ceased and the blades stopped.

“We’re here Ms McShane,” he said in character with an Australian accent. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited...”

“Yeah, well, it’ll all be okay, right Dr Smith?” she replied, not knowing what the plan was or how they would get the other Doctor and his companion out of the secure base, it seemed as tight as a drum.

They stood as the chopper doors were pulled back. An officer stood flanked by a man in a grey suit and two grunts. Ace jumped down first and took the bags, then helped down the Doctor and Benny.

“I’m Brigadier Laoh. Doctor Smith? Professor Summerfield? Welcome.” He turned to Ace. “I understand you are Ms McShane, bodyguard and secretary. A secretary is fine, but we do our own security. Please hand over your gun and boot knife.”

Oh he was good. Sharp. “Sure, no problem,” she said, pulling the gun from its shoulder holster as the brigadier shook hands with the Doctor and Benny. They were in, but how were they going to get out? Arms weren’t a problem; there were a couple of smart bombs in her bag, hidden plastic tech, undetectable to the current technology. Getting everyone out alive and safe, however, might be a problem, Ace worried, as she followed her ‘employer’ and his ‘partner’ as they followed a soldier taking them to their quarters, Ace carrying the luggage belonging to all three of them. Hopefully the briefing in an hour would make it clearer. She made a note to check their quarters for bugs as soon as they dumped their bags. She watched the Doctor close his eyes quickly and flutter his eyelids and fingers as they walked past a junction of corridors...

 

*

 

...Curled up tightly, Yu curled around him protectively; the Doctor’s eyes snapped open. He wasn’t so alone. He smiled to himself. All was not as lost as he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: dub con, post rape trauma, post enforced prostitution trauma, post torture trauma, dysfunctional and possibly broken relationship.
> 
>  
> 
> I have to pack up half my house for the housing association to send builders and decorators to sort out the mess left by the leaks. They promised me help and it being done in one day. I have no help and it will take two days. My daughter and I are struggling with pain and exhaustion so who knows when I will post again, as I want to get my house back to normal as soon as is possible once they are done. So apologies, the next chapter won't be posted for at least a fortnight :(


	15. 27th November 2023, settling in the Base

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight trigger warning belong

“You let them think what?!” Benny exclaimed, her eyes wide and her eyebrows high with astonishment, she stood at the end of the bed with her hands on her hips, unable to believe it. This was not what she had intended when she set up their false identities in Canberra and Beijing.

Ace scowled at Benny, and the Doctor for good measure, although as yet he had said nothing, as she continued to pace the room, scanning. The Doctor looked at Benny and put his fingers to his lips and gestured with his hands to indicate the room and his eyes and ears, before winking at Ace.

“All clear,” Ace declared a few moments later, completely reassured that their room was free of all bugs, hidden or otherwise, audio or visual or both. 

It was a nice room, as far as secret base under mountain rooms went. It had a large double bed, a sofa, a big coffee table and a desk in the corner, a station for tea and instant noodles in the other far corner, and a quite large en suite bathroom. A simple fold up military style camp bed had been put up against the bathroom wall next to the double bed, presumably for Ace. The other bed was Benny's issue.

Ace dumped her haversack and and rucksack on it and sat down, staking claim. Let the Doctor and Benny sort it out among themselves.

“Seriously,” Bernice hissed, “I can't believe you let them think...”

“No bugs, feel free to shout,” Ace quipped, lying back, hands behind her head, boots on her bags.

“In point of fact, Bernice, you heavily implied it when you set up our identities move to Shanghai,” the Doctor said calmly. “Besides,” he went on, “ it's an excellent cover. Exactly the sort of thing I would never do, have a relationship with a younger colleague and student.”

Ace snorted. The Doctor glared at her. Benny laughed, no longer angry or apprehensive.

“Okay, I suppose,” she said. “My characters correspondence and move over the last two years could be interpreted as a romantic as well as professional relationship. I asked for it I suppose. But,” she went on hopefully, “why don't you take the camp bed, Doctor? You rarely sleep anyway.” 

“I'm sharing with no one, alright?” Ace snapped, sitting up.

The Doctor shrugged. “I'm sure your honour is safer with me than with Ace, anyway Bernice. No, Benny,” he went on, grinning at Ace, and winking as she made a noise of protest, “we must maintain our 'legends' at all times.”

Benny sighed and sat down on the bed. The Doctor lifted his suitcase to the other side and began to unpack. “Let's settle in and be ready for our escort. Briefing in forty five minutes now.”

 

*

 

They were escorted through the wide corridor, down a lift, past what looked like laboratories and classrooms, and into a large conference room dominated by a large, white, oval, table surrounded by beige upholstered chairs. Brigadier Laoh sat at the head of the table, facing the door. Dr. Ling sat on his right, a young woman in white nurses scrubs, her hair severely pulled off her face into a bun, on his left. A tea service was on the table in front of them.

Laoh stood. “Ah. Please come in. Dr. Smith, Dr. Summerfield, Ms McShane. Won't you come in. Please, sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“Excellent. Tea would be wonderful!” the Doctor enthused, slapping his hands together. “Although the comfort station in our quarters ins well-stocked, I find you can't beat tea properly made, can you?”

“No indeed,” Laoh replied, reseating himself as the three pulled out chairs and sat down. He immediately poured the Doctor some tea and handed it to him. He turned to Benny and Ace, seating either side of the Doctor, the so-far silent and unintroduced nurse's side of the table, a couple of seats in-between her and Benny. “Ladies?” Laoh asked.

“Ta,” Ace said, grinning, taking out a notebook and pencil. “Can't beat old methods,” she said to Ling's curious stare across the table. “That's what my old commanding officer used to say. Paper's easily destroyed and not easily hacked.”

“I think he's more concerned about your note-taking than your method, Dorothy,” Bernice said primly.

Ace caught herself just in time from reacting to the hateful name. She was undercover. “Really?” she said dryly. She decided then and there to play her legend as if she were in love with her boss and despised his partner. She turned to their Chinese supposed hosts and employers. “Rest assured, Brigadier, I am only taking notes for Dr. Smith as an aide. I will shred them as soon as he had remembered it all. Sir,” she added. She was, after all, ex British Army. Apparently.

Ling sniffed at Ace's deference to Laoh's rank. He looked at Laoh, preparing the tea again. “Dr. Summerfield,” he said, ignoring Ace's cheeky grin, “you'll take tea?”

“Thank you,” Benny smiled and watched Laoh pour her tea, and then Ace's, despite Ling's pointed lack of request, and handed them their tea bowls with due ceremony. Ace took hers one handed and slurped. The Doctor glared pointedly at her as the three Chinese ignored her even more pointedly.

“Now, before we begin this briefing,” Laoh said, after all had sipped at their tea, “may I remind you all, gentleman and ladies, when you took Chinese citizenship, you swore allegiance to the People's Republic of China, its People, its Government, its Plans, and the Party. May I also remind you, before we begin to discuss the E.T. in captivity, and his medical – and emotional,” he added with heavy emphasis and a nod to Bernice, “- needs, that what we do is for the Government's Twenty Year Plan for solar system habitation, asteroid mineral extraction and planetary resource exploitation. We have to get vital information from the alien to assist these aims.”

The Doctor nodded firmly, Benny murmured, 'of course,' while Ace snapped, 'Yep, gotcha, no problem.'

“Good. Now, let's get started. Ling?”

Ling stood up. “We captured the alien approximately one month ago. He had found the taikonaut and designer of Shenzhou 19, the Divine Farscape Project capsule. He had not, as had been believed, been destroyed, but travelled unimaginable distances in time and space through what appeared for a moment to be a gravity well or singularity that opened up just above the atmosphere as he began his reverse orbit gravity free fall. This is something of interest for the theoretical physicists, but not of our immediate concern.”

“The former Commander Chan is being held here also,” Laoh added. “The Base Commander is currently under arrest, as Chan could have provided some of what we need himself, if not so cruelly used.”

“Is he okay?” Benny asked.

“He is fine. Now.”

“I had a brief look at the intel specs on the alien,” Benny said. “It seems that holding or threatening his companion can compel him to cooperate.”

“Initially,” Laoh agreed. “It also makes him more determined and a more formidable enemy. We don't want that,” he went on. “We found a better way to break him. He is physically and psychologically damaged. You will assist him, gain his trust. He will give us needed equations for advanced space flight willingly.”

“Damaged?” the Doctor asked, interrupting. “How?”

“We will explain more in detail later. In fact, we will give you access to all recordings and documents on Project Rose,” Ling replied for Laoh, wanting to move the briefing along.

“Rose?” Ace asked curiously, remembering the name as one of the imaginary companions that the Doctor has chatted to while stressed, as she followed him in both Paris and Moscow. Damaged didn't cover it. Ling and the Doctor, as her employer Dr. John Smith, both glared at her for her interruption and she bowed her head, mouthing sorry, she was, after all, only the lowly PA, here because Dr. Smith needed her. Laoh, however, looked at her sympathetically.

“As in the EuroCombine licensed prostitution tattoo and chip insert,” Ling replied. “You have heard of it?”

“I've read news reports, and also counselled refugees,” Benny replied for Ace, shocked, while Ace had just nodded, looking sick and disturbed, as befitting someone actually head-hunted out of the appallingly over-crowded, depressing, New Jungle on the north-western edge of Europe. “It's an abhorrent abuse of human rights,” Benny added with feeling.

“Indeed,” Ling agreed mildly. “But he is not human. That is the point. And now you can guess at how we broke him. We inserted the chip, tattooed him, and,” Ling grinned maliciously, “as you might say, threw him to the wolves.”

“Barbaric!” Benny said. “So now he is so traumatized that you believe, if I gain his trust, I can persuade him to cooperate?”

“It is our preferred route, yes,” Laoh replied smoothly. “However, we have Professor Chan Yu, as you have pointed out.”

“Professor?” asked the Doctor, curious, “ I thought you said Commander?”

“He has been stripped of his honorary rank and commission,” Ling replied dismissively.

“So Chan Yu is the alien's companion?” Benny clarified.

“Indeed. More so,” Ling replied. “They are lovers. Hence the discharge.”

While Benny opened and closed her mouth, unable to process this aside, and yet having to pretend to be someone that signed up to accepting this time and place's mores, customs, and beliefs, as well as laws, the Doctor just said cryptically, “Interesting.”

“I'd say!” Ace snorted with a trooper's ribald humour. “A gay alien! Not what anyone suspects!”

“Ms McShane, please keep your opinions to yourself and just take notes for me,” the Doctor snapped firmly.

“Sorry Dr. Smith,” Ace simpered with fake demur, having to bite the inside of her cheek.

“Besides,” the Doctor went on, musing aloud, in character, “why should we categorize an alien by our own standards of gender, sex, sexuality, reproduction, and identity, m'm?”

“No Dr. Smith. Sorry,” Ace said quietly. Their mock conversation would come back to haunt her later.

“You are quite right Dr. Smith,” Ling agreed smoothly, “as you will see. Shall we continue?” he added primly.

 

*

 

The briefing took over an hour, and then the nurse silently led the Doctor and Ace to the Infirmary, to a small side office room, where she gave them a laptop and a folder of printouts, a flash drive, and an old-fashioned CD-ROM.

“All recordings and transcripts to Project Rose, all bio-data and research before the commencement of the project, and all medical notes since his arrival on the base. I will return in two hours and answer any questions you have then.”

“Thank you, er...?” the Doctor began, but she had already turned on her heel and left. “An efficient and rather disturbing woman, that one,” he said, turning to Ace, who was pacing, her hand in her jacket pocket, surreptitiously scanning for more listening devices.

“Well creepy, that's what she is,” Ace replied, while continuing with her scan. “Why didn't the Brigadier introduce her?” She grinned and nodded, giving a thumbs up. “Does she even have a name? And that was all clear, by the way.”

“I gathered,” the Doctor replied dryly, sitting down. Then he sighed deeply. “Can we please not refer to Mr Laoh as the Brigadier,” he went on sadly. “I find it rather... discombobulating.”

“You what? If you like. It's only a rank, you know Professor. Not a name. There must be thousands of brigadiers. Not just old Lethbridge Stewart.”

The Doctor sighed again. “I know. But right now, here and now, he is dead, and I find that... uncomfortable.”

Ace punched the Doctor's arm. “You old softy. You really love him, don't you?”

“He's probably my best friend. Probably ever,” the Doctor replied with a slightly pathetic whine.

Again Ace reminded herself what he had experienced second hand through his link with the other Doctor.

Meanwhile, after speaking, the Doctor carried on as if he hadn't exposed any emotional vulnerability and, stretching out his arms and clicking his fingers, switched on the laptop and called up the files. “Now. Let's see what they have done to him,” he said darkly.

 

*

 

Meanwhile, Benny had remained in the conference room. She was given reports of the three times the Doctor had been dumped among the poor and disposed of Europe, drugged, tattooed, and chipped: The New Jungle 1 Refugee Camp, Calais End, France; Butterflies Brothel, Berlin, Germany; The Secure Compound, Strasbourg; Belgium; along with the two times he had returned to the Chinese Embassy in Brussels and been recaptured and re-examined and interrogated, although some information from the exams in particular had been redacted. Not for her eyes. No matter, she knew all the Time Lord biology she felt she needed to already. She wondered if the Doctor had full access, as he was posing as a medical doctor, and she was denied it as she was merely a psychologist, or perhaps it had just been declared highly classified.

His second return saw him extremely injured, although having received some excellent emergency treatment from somewhere redacted, as was his means of escape, but reading between the blacked out lines, Bernice wouldn't have been surprised if the Master has strangely come to his rescue and healed his damaged body. She didn't want to think about that. The injuries listed were typical of being repeatedly beaten and raped, and as the second, medical redacted, she could only guess at. Or couldn't, to be strictly accurate.

His first return saw him highly distressed and emotional, but physically unharmed, and accompanied by a man, a Russian they accused of being a spy for either the KGB or UNIT. The final outcome had seen the Doctor drugged and the man recruited as a double agent. Sell out, Benny thought, although it was too far back in time from her personal time, the Second Cold War, for her to pick a side. As bad as each other, if her history primer of the era was to be believed. It wasn't an era that ever interested her.

First Benny watched the Doctor and the Russian agent interviewed and threatened, and the Doctor's distress at the Russian's fate, or threatened fate of summary execution, in which he just seemed like the Doctor, if a little more highly strung and in a completely different body: still naïve to the sheer nastiness of humanity and thinking fast on his feet to come up with a believable lie to save a companion. That Commander Roschenkov was a temporary companion, she had no doubt.

The she clicked on the file marked 'Butterflies' and wished she hadn't.

 

*

 

Meanwhile, Laoh was showing Ling footage of Chan's interrogations.

“The Major's a fool,” Ling said dryly after Laoh had turned to him, switching off the screen.

“Yes. I recommend we see him, give him his own clothes and a bath, put a bed and furniture in his cell, give him better food, and apologise. If he is even still willing to explain his theories and equations to the science team which arrived this morning, then all is not lost.”

“Agreed. Best keep the Doctor in the dark about his companion's improved confinement though.”

“Separate them then?”

“Indeed. Divide and conquer,” Laoh replied dryly. Ling merely raised an eyebrow.

 

*

“Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“Look.”

Ace peered over the Doctor's shoulder and looked at the screen. He clicked to enlarge the image, then looked up at her, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Is that what I think it is? It's hard to tell, those scans are all blurry and splotchy” Ace sat down heavily next to the Doctor, still staring at the screen.

The Doctor nodded. “Well, that settles that then,” he said. “He's the one from the alternative dimension, not us. I'd definitely remember something like that.”

“Yeah. I mean, bit hard to miss, bit sad if you get to a thousand and still not know about it,” Ace quipped darkly.

The Doctor glared at her a moment and then went on as it she hadn't spoken, “We're where we should be Ace, Time most likely has been manipulated by the Monk.”

“Yeah, I reckon,” Ace said, nodding furiously. “Frog-faced bastard. But more like a pocket dimension of our reality, though.”

The Doctor grinned, despite the perplexing images on the laptop. “Very good Ace,” he said, touching her nose lightly. “But one thing at a time. We must come up with a rescue plan for the Doctor and his friend as soon as we can.”

“Yeah. Urgently. But Professor, is that what I think it is?”

The Doctor nodded. “Interesting, isn't it?”

“Well mind bogglingly weird is what it is Professor!”

“I think I may need to copy this is we are to help him. Keep an eye out that Nurse Silent and Efficient doesn't make a sudden reappearance.”

“Sure.” Ace leapt up and went to the door.

 

*

Half a mile further in the mountain and deeper underground, in the detention wing, an awkward and heavy silence hung in the hair, thick and cloying. Yu sat on the floor, cross-legged, apparently in meditation, or deep thought, but in reality he was counting up in perfect numbers and trying to get his breathing less ragged and panicked.

Meanwhile, the Doctor was curled up in a tight ball and hugging the thin, meagre, pillow. He wanted Fizzallundra, which he knew was childish and illogical, but he couldn't help it. He had finally noticed the camera, and was ashamed of his own behaviour earlier. After all that had been done to him as he travelled through Europe, he had not even considered Yu's own wishes in anything. Ever since the guard had brought them two tiny bowls of congee and hinted at what fate awaited Yu, before spitting in his rice porridge, Yu had been silent. The Doctor knew he ought to offer comfort, say something reassuring, or hug him, if a hug was welcome after his own previous shameful behaviour, but he now seemed paralysed, no longer in a storm of terror, guilt, pain, and flashbacks, but so numb he could barely breathe, let alone move, speak, or think. He was beginning to think he had dreamt the gentle brush of the other Doctor's mind. Certainly he didn't want to give Yu false hope.

Finally Yu shattered the thick, heavy, silence.

“I'm going to die, aren't I?”

“No!” the Doctor snapped, unable to comprehend it. Everyone died. He outlived all his friends, such mayfly lives. The curse of the Last Time Lord. Except he wasn't, was he? Not in this universe. If he ever escaped, he could go home. Yet not. It was not his home, not his Gallifrey, and they would instantly know he wasn't from this universe. They would treat him with curiosity, pity, or suspicion. Gallifrey did not have a good track record when if came to receiving refugees, even those from war and natural disaster of its own creation and experimentation, not even from The War. If they took him in at all, it would be to unlock the secrets to prevent the Time War ever occurring in this dimension.

In that aspect, he thought sadly, Time Lords and humans were too alike. Certainly right now, in this time he was stuck in. In other times and places, humans were magnificent, brilliant, opening their arms wide with love for those of their own kind, and others, seeking refuge and safety, a place to call home.

Home. Gallifrey was not his home. Not for a long time. A millennia at least. The TARDIS was. If only he could get to her...

“They're going to strap me down to an operating table and cut out my kidneys. Or heart. No anaesthetics. Leave me to bleed out in agony. Aren't they?” Yu's half-hysterical question cut in on the Doctor's own self-piteous thoughts, horrifying him.

“No!” the Doctor yelled, finding he could move, rushing over to Yu and holding him tightly. “No! For one, they are just playing mind game with you. I'm sure they are. At least, I'm almost sure they are. Secondly, I will get us out of here. I won't let that happen, I promise. I'll give them everything they want before that happens. I will. I promise. In fact, why don't you? I mean, it's why you insisted I bring you home in the first place. On the train to Xichang there were a group of scientists on their way here. They couldn't make head nor tail of your equations and...”

Yu silenced his stressed babble with a finger pressed to his lips. “S'sh. I know it's awful. I'm frankly terrified. But we must face facts. How can we escape?”

“B'mph...”

Yu took away his finger, smiling, and kissed the Doctor's nose. “I love you. Never doubt that. I want you to know.”

“I don't believe humans would do anything so barbaric!” the Doctor blurted out, then, interrupting himself, said unhappily, “Actually, I do. I've been to Tenochtitlan twice, at least. But the China I travelled through seemed so advanced, so progressive. The people so kind.”

“It is an execution that was done over the last few decades, since we opened for business with the world. I had heard it had ended. It was a judicial execution for murderers and rapists. And I always believed a conventional execution first, then the organs harvested. I'd heard rumours that some political prisoners, ethnic minority rights leaders, pro-democrats, that sort of thing, were also executed. But the thing is Doctor, you get on with your law-abiding life and don't think... then I was here and it was all threats and...!” Yu broke off, shaking.

The Doctor climbed off the mattress and pulled Yu's legs straight and straddled him and began to stroke his hair and face, kissing his nose and cheeks. “S'sh,” he murmured. “We'll be fine. I promise. As you said, I'm the Doctor, I will think of something.”

 

*

 

Once the mysterious, inexplicable, ultrasounds were downloaded onto the Doctor's new, upgraded, sonic screwdriver, he and Ace went through the interrogation and 'placement' files for Project Rose; the detailed medical exams and research notes for the first for days, when the Doctor had been kept pacified and sedated with a mixture of chloroform,Valium, and Royhypnol, hardly aware of what was happening. From this drug-addled state, they had laughingly extrapolated what they called his 'baseline obs' they then had been using ever since to compare with at all subsequent medical exams, including the one mere hours before they had arrived at Base 27 themselves.

The post-Berlin exam made particularly hard reading, as, when they had worked their way through, so did the injuries sustained under Base interrogation and recorded earlier that morning. The fact that the perpetrators were under arrest with Laoh's firm intention to have them prosecuted and punished, was little comfort.

“I need to see him. I need to give him a better examination, check he – they? – are all right,” the Doctor mused aloud, tapping the screwdriver to his lips, his forehead creased with concern, his blue eyes blazing with anger.

“I'll get Sister Creepy,” Ace said, standing.

“Then find Benny. I think our undercover personas would meet to discuss tactics, don't you?”

“Natural thing, Professor,” Ace said, with a sad smile, and left.

She returned a few minutes later with the nurse.

“Ah. That was quick. Nurse, I would like to run my own full toxicology and essentials profiling, so please see that I have urine and enough bloods to run all these -” The Doctor scribled the long list of required blood tests hurriedly onto a scrap of paper from a pad next to the laptop and handed it to the nurse. “And I'd like to do a physical exam myself as soon as possible. Could that be arranged for within the hour? Also, providing the Brigadier Laoh agrees, I feel I should talk to my colleague as soon as possible as regards the best approach for his 'therapy', that the physiological and the psychological complement one another and are the most efficient in getting what we need with minimum extra suffering of the E.T. We do really need to gain his trust and confidence as soon as possible, after all. H'm?”

“That all sounds like an excellent plan, Dr. Smith. I must, on Dr. Ling's instruction, inform you that certain aspects of the E.T.'s... condition... are top priority Gold Level, for the Brigadier, the Major, myself, and your eyes only. I am only included due to the risk to the alien following the former Base Commander's mistreatment. Obviously, your personal assistant Ms McShane, comes under the same emergency procedure. Dr. Summerfield does not have clearance unless there is an indication the subject knows what had happened to him and/or it is observed to have an impact on his psychological welfare. Please bear this in mind when talking to Dr. Summerfield.”

“Oh I understand perfectly nurse. Is that clear Ms McShane?”

“Oh. Absolutely, Dr. Smith.”

“Good. Now, Ms McShane, could you please find a suitable room for myself and my colleague to discuss our plan of action concerning treatment and therapy, and find her and escort her there?”

“Of course Dr. Smith,” Ace said, subtly biting her tongue so as not to laugh out loud, or even show her smile.

“One of the soldiers on the corridor will assist you with you all need, Ms McShane,” the nurse said. She turned to the Doctor. “I'll see to these tests and requests immediately Doctor.” She followed Ace out of the room. 

The Doctor, once alone, let out a heavy sigh and put his head in his hands.

 

*

The cell door slammed open and two guards rushed in, one armed with a rifle. Yu, conditioned by his weeks in captivity, had leapt to his feet as soon as he heard the door unlock. He was slightly surprised and confused by the fact that he recognised neither of the young soldiers. He had only seen the same six soldiers in rotation since arrival at the Base, along with the Base Commander and his Captain. He looked to the Doctor, confused, and realised he had unceremoniously shoved him off his lap as he stood. The Doctor sat, hugging his knees, on the mattress, looking at neither the guards nor Yu. Instead he looked as if he was trying to disappear, sinking back and looking startled and, quite frankly, terrified, something Yu had never seen on the Doctor before. What had his experiences done to him, Yu asked himself, trying not to feel more afraid himself. He was used to the Doctor's bravo and confidence in all situations, from Sontarans to Rutans to Daleks, not the one needing the protection. He felt like his heart might break. The Doctor should have leapt to his feet, be pacing about, babbling, owning the situation. Instead, he sat, rocking, sucking his knee, looking for all the world, despite his many centuries of existence, like a traumatised child. 

“What do you want?” Yu asked, trying to sound forceful, as the guards had merely pointed at the Doctor, who, as he was not looking up, had completely ignored their pointing.

“The alien,” barked the guard, the one nearer the door, holding the rifle.

“Why? What for?” Yu demanded.

“The medics have need of him.”

That sounded ominous to Yu. He positioned himself in front of the Doctor. “I won't let you hurt him.”

The first guard lowered his gun and looked to the second, who spoke gently. “We have no intention of hurting him Commander Chan. The new medical team wish to run tests. The alien is sick.”

Confused by the gentleness, Yu blurted out without thinking, “Who are you? Where are the detention block's usual guard?”

“Can he get to his feet?” the guard asked, by way of an answer, his voice still kind, as he gestured to the Doctor.

Unsure of the answer himself, Yu asked, “Doctor?”

“Come on, get up please,” the unarmed solider said, taking a step towards the mattress and the Doctor. Yu moved to block him. “The new doctor wants to run some tests on the alien,” the soldier said quietly, staring into Yu's eyes.

“Don't call him the alien!” Yu snapped.

“He is,” the soldier replied curtly, shrugging, as if it were no matter. Yu sighed, and was about to argue it sounded racist, but then thought about it. He would have said the same, of the African, or the European, or the whatever, himself, not really thinking it in any way would give offence. It was only after travelling with the Doctor in the past and the future, of being called 'the Chinese' or 'the Chinaman' along with a brace of worse, starting with 'coolie' and ending with far, far, more distressing terms, he'd thought about it, how you phrase the descriptions of a person different to you. But right now, a description was a way of de-humanising, of distancing oneself, of creating a lesser, an other, an enemy, to lead to the capacity to cause hurt and pain. And worse. And human could mean person from Earth, but it could equally mean sentient being.

So the soldier had pointed out that the Doctor wasn't human. But he was sentient and deserved dignity.

“He is known as the Doctor, kindly address him as such. What does the medical team want of him?” Yu demanded, emboldened by the fact these two soldiers were not only speaking to him, they were maintaining eye contact and even called him Commander. He felt they were unlikely to start to beat him up for no reason, as the others had, all too frequently.

The soldiers both nodded, then looked at each other. The unarmed one took another step towards the Doctor.

“Doctor? Sir, we need to escort you to the Infirmary. We have a new xeno-doctor who wishes to help you feel better.”

“Maybe it's for the best Doctor?” Yu said, questioningly, looking down at the huddled figure, rocking slightly. “You are sick and feverish.”

The Doctor mumbled something into his knees which sounded like, “I know what's wrong.” He then looked up at Yu with burning, feverish, yellow, eyes, as if to prove the point. He also looked both hurt and afraid.

“Please Sir. The doctor only wishes to examine you and run some tests,” the soldier said, stepping onto the mattress and holding out a hand.

“I'm the Doctor! The definitive article!” the Doctor shouted, leaping to his feet and pushing himself behind Yu.

“Yes Doctor,” the armed soldier agreed mildly from the open doorway, “but we meant the xeno-medic who wishes to help.”

“Best go,” Yu said, squeezing the Doctor's hand. “I'll see you soon, I'm sure.”

The Doctor let out a breath and stepped forward, faking a smile. “Shall we go then?” he said, walking to the door. The unarmed soldier followed. Yu watched them go, the Doctor was limping slightly and rubbed absently at his abdomen as if it pained him. He looked so pale, his hair stuck to his head with a cold, damp, sweat. He turned to look at Yu just before the door was slammed shut again and locked. Yu hoped he would see him again soon, but wasn't all that hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight trigger warnings for mentions of rape, torture, executions and human sacrifice as well as post rape and post torture.
> 
> I must apologise for the delay in posting and give a warning that posting maybe a little more erratic and unpredictable - RL has given me yet more kicks in the teeth and I have two big battles ahead and little in the way of physical resources. My daughter's PIP has been refused. it's crazy, they give you Personal Independence Payments to pay for help for you to be independent, then assess you and say your independent so take the money away, your whole limited quality of life comes crashing down, you fight, you appeal, the judge gives you a fixed period that they ignore, then they claim a need for reassessment, and then take it away. all on bare faced lies from the assessors too. Meanwhile, I have been imprisioned not so much by deliberate anti disabled govt policy but sheer incompetence! The HA have fitted new doors and the guy who did the survey was an imbecile and I now have door with a sill that causes extreme pain to go in and out of with the wheelchair - 4 different levels in the space on 10cm to bump over painfully, and a door I cannot lock or unlock! Still, we're not national sausages or spam yet :)


	16. The long night of 27-28th November 2023

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning below

Ace was informed by her 'escort', a cute boy to look at, that she obliged with a sweet smile of thank you, as who knew when she might need the odd ally among the troops, that 'Dr. Summerfield' had been left in the boardroom with the materials concerning the alien's psychological well-being.

Or not well-being, Ace thought sadly. To distract herself, she thought, his psychological well-being is normally as mad as a box of drashigs and twice as dangerous! She bit back her smile and told her 'escort' to lead on.

The guard on the boardroom door told her that Bernice had said she needed a break and had returned to their quarters. Ace was impressed with how well Benny had set up their undercover legends, as she was then left alone to go in search of her 'employer's' 'partner', with just a polite enquiry as to whether she remembered the way back to the Infirmary.

Ace went to their room.

Benny was sitting on the edge of the double bed, hugging herself and staring into space, her hip flask beside her.

“Alright Benny. Hiya,” Ace said, as she shut the door behind her.

“Goddess! You made me jump!” Benny said, startled.

“Alright?” Ace asked again, sitting down next to her, moving the flask. Benny's breath smelt like she had been imbibing for quite a while.

Benny replied with a murmur which sounded, to Ace, like a cross between a hiccup, a hysterical laugh, and a sob.

“Are you okay Bernice?” Ace asked again, more seriously this time.

“Goddess, Ace,” Benny replied, or didn't, staring ahead, not looking at her.

“Berlin?” Ace guessed. “The brothel?”

“Sixteen! I was sixteen! Over half my lifetime ago. More probably, I feel as if time passes differently, as if we age more slowly, on the TARDIS, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ace nodded.

“I got out. Faced it. Moved on. Got over it. All those usual platitudes.” Benny snorted. “Or so I tell myself. But you know, it stays with you, you live with it, not... not... Goddess, Ace! Did you see what they did to him?”

“Some. I looked away. The Doctor sort of skipped it, muttering a lot about different dimensions and different Doctors...”

“Oh cruk! Poor Doctor. He's alright, isn't he?”

“You don't exist in his dimension. That's a big difference, so I guess yes. Maybe. Or he's telling himself. We read the post medical reports though. It had more of an... impact,” Ace decided. It wasn't just the screen she had looked away from, she had felt so helpless and also unwanted. The Doctor's pain for his future was his alone.

“Impact! Of course it had...!” Benny began, and then realised they were still talking about their own Doctor. “Of course it did,” she whispered. “Poor Doctor. So how is ours doing?” she asked again. “I mean, it still might be his future, me or no me...”

“Not really,” Ace said, more hoping than certain. “I mean, he is definitely from another universe. And besides, you don't get to a thousand, poking your nose in, interfering, pissing off the bad guys, without... you know, that happening... from time to time,” Ace hinted.

“Frag! How to make a girl feel better Ace!” 

“Want a hug?” Ace offered. What could she say? She was a lucky girl. There had been a few minor incidents on Iceworld before the Doctor showed up, but nothing that serious. She couldn't really imagine how either the Doctor or Benny had been triggered. She just had to be there as back-up.

Benny turned to look at Ace. Not so long ago they had practically been at each other throats. But since Paris and Egypt, Ace seemed to have grown up, made her peace with herself, the Doctor, and the universe. And therefore was no longer threatened by Benny being in the TARDIS. Benny was touched, but shook her head. “I'm still a bit... triggered. Touch phobic. But thanks Ace. I mean it. Why are you here anyway ?”

“Looking for you. As Dr. Smith's PA. Case conference. Are you up to it, being the fake shrink Dr. Summerfield?”

Benny gave a shuddering sigh and then faked a smile. “Sure. Why not?”

 

*

The guards had escorted the Doctor back to the Infirmary and pointed to a bed. Still feeling unnaturally exhausted and dizzy, he sat without protest. One soldier left, the armed one, with a nod to his colleague, whilst the other, once he was on his own with the Doctor, gave the Doctor a thin smile and moved to stand at the side of the bed, at the end, drawing the screens around them. He then pushed them open enough to go to outside of the shielded bed. He explained nothing to the Doctor though.

The Doctor looked about him, but saw no escape route but neither did he see anything too alarming. That was until the screen was was drawn back with a snap and Ling walked up to him, followed by the nurse, who carried a kidney bowl containing a needle and several small vials for blood, along with a small pot for a urine sample.

“No thank you, I've just been,” the Doctor quipped, looking alarmed at the needle. “Actually, I really don't think...” he began, leaping up and backing away, falling over a chair and tipping backwards through the green curtain. He was caught by the soldier on the outside.

“Really Doctor,” Ling said smoothly, “there is no need for alarm. The xeno-doctor wishes to check for health. We have no intention of keeping your blood, much less using it for any nefarious purpose. That is what concerns you, I take it? Not a mundane fear of needles?”

“I only have your word,” the Doctor sneered, crossing his arms and hugging himself, tucking his hands under his armpits.

“It really is for health checks only, you do have my word Doctor, on my honour. The Chinese have no need for genetically modified ubersolden, nothing beats training and discipline, commitment and numbers. Americans are fools, always looking for a quick fix. Look where that has got the world? No, let Americans tinker with soldiers' DNA, mix it with any E.T. DNA they find, it will get them nothing but the destruction of their souls!” Ling spat out, not hiding his contempt for the Americans nor his horror at genetic experimentation on adult soldiers. It did indeed reassure the Doctor, even if he couldn't resist singing, badly, very flat,

“You must be swift as a coursing river,  
With all the force of a great typhoon,  
With all the strength of of a raging fire,  
Mysterious as the dark side of the moon.”

He added, to Ling, the nurse, and the soldier's, started faces, “Yeah yeah, I know all that.”

“Are you torturing him, Dr. Ling?” a cheerful Scottish brogue called from somewhere in the Infirmary, rolling his rs in 'torturing' for affect. “Shame on you!”

“Oi! That was singing, that was!” the Doctor yelled.

“You might call it that,” Ling said darkly. “Roll up your sleeve.”

A very familiar face poked through the gap in the green screens and winked. “Hello. I'm Dr. John Smith. I merely want to run a full vitamin and mineral profile, and check your endocrinological levels. I have no intention of letting your DNA to fall into nefarious, evil, hands. I have no love of the West and its DNA experimentation and its cloned warrior plans. Please do cooperate. I only wish to make you more comfortable.”

The Doctor bit the inside of his cheek, and then his tongue, to stop himself grinning from ear to ear. “So you say,” he managed to get out in a surly enough fashion. But he began to slip his arm out of his jumper and roll up his shirtsleeve.

“Jolly good,” said 'Dr. Smith'. “And if you can squeeze out a little wee in that pot, I'd be most grateful. I'm off to recalibrate the centrifuge,” he said to Ling and the nurse, before practically bouncing off.

*

Meanwhile, Yu was surprised that within the hour one of the soldiers, the one who had carried the rifle, returned for him and escorted him out of the detention and interrogation wing and up several levels to the residential wing, where he was taken into an empty room.

Yu turned to look at the young trooper in confusion. On the bed lay his own clothes, washed and pressed, along with a couple of fluffy towels and decent shower gel, shampoo, a razor, and shaving foam.

“Wha-what is this?” he asked, bewildered.

“The Brigadier says to make yourself presentable, and then he will meet with you. He sends his heartfelt apologies for your treatment under the previous regime, and wishes to assure you the previous base commander and his second are currently confined, awaiting a disciplinary hearing.” The young man let out an audible sigh, and looked very relieved, glad he had relayed the officer's message, word for word.

“Oh?” was all the stunned Yu could think to say. Sorry didn't really cover the beatings, the waterboarding, the electrocutions, to say nothing of the psychological torture of being shown videos of the Doctor being raped.

“I will wait outside,” the boy said. “Brigadier Laoh will see you at 1745 in his office. I will escort you Professor Chan.”

“Am I still under arrest?” Yu asked, further confused. Before he had been Commander to this boy, now the military rank had been discarded, but not the respect. And who was Brigadier Laoh?

The solider considered. “Yes. I think. But under less harsh conditions.”

“Where's the Doctor?”

“The Infirmary Sir. He is being looked after.”

“Okay. Well, wait outside then. I shall have my first decent bath in weeks.”

 

*

 

Half a mile deeper into the mountain, in the main conference room, the Doctor, Bernice, and Ace, sat around one end of a large, white, oval, table.

“Are you alright Bernice? You look a little pale,” the Doctor asked, concerned and solicitous.

“Fine. Are you?” Benny replied briskly.

“Perfectly. When aren't I?” he snapped, and turning to Ace, who was doing her usual sweep of the room for bugs and other listening or observing devices of any kind, went on a little manically, “Ace?”

“There are no bugs, any more than last time. They trust their vetting, so...?” Ace replied.

“So?” echoed the Doctor.

“So, what do we do then?” Ace clarified.

“Ah. For now we continue to play along. Until we can figure out how to get all five of us out, the Time Lord medical data wiped, the Doctor's belongings back to him, and join the two TARDISes, so when one dematerialises, the other follows.”

“Where is our TARDIS?” Benny asked. “If it comes to it, where's his?”

“His is in the train dock. Mine is nearby. Where doesn't matter yet.”

Benny put her head down on the desk for a minute.

“Never mind that,” Ace said. “What do we do next? I bumped into our pilot earlier. He asked to meet me in the refectory. One of the guards who escorted the other Doctor tried to catch my eye too. Thought I'd get to know them. Get the lay of the land. Figure out exits, security measures, you know.”

“Get to know them how?” the Doctor asked, frowning, his forehead creasing in almost parental concern.

“I'm not a little girl,” Ace laughed. “I can take care of myself. Them too,” she leered. “Don't worry about me Professor.”

“Are they cute?” Benny asked.

Ace made a 'so so' gesture with her hand. Benny grinned, then turned to the Doctor,

“But what about us, Doctor? How do we proceed?” she asked.

“I intend to do a hands on medical exam later today, unchaperoned, I hope. I suggest we both meet with him tomorrow morning, and depending if he requires any medical intervention, you start your 'therapy sessions' in the afternoon.” The Doctor gestured the quotation marks in the air with his fingers as he said therapy sessions. He went on, seriously, “Which will be recorded, Bernice, so be careful, and make them as real as possible without distressing him too much.”

“I'm no shrink! And what about me getting upset.”

The Doctor looked at Benny a moment, thoughtful, then compassionate. “Yes,” he said slowly, eventually. He then smiled, and said, “Take care not to upset both of you. Make it up as you go along. He's not likely to open up to you any way.”

“He doesn't trust me,” Benny said sadly. “I don't exist in his universe. I might have never existed at all. Of just not met him.”

“No,” the Doctor sighed. “Interesting, isn't it?” The Doctor reached across and squeezed her shoulder. “His loss Benny.”

 

*

 

“Ah. Professor Chan. Please sit down. Will you take tea?”

“Um. Thank you. I recognise you. From the Embassy.”

“Yes. I was an attaché. My job was to recruit British and Syrian, Icelandic and Yemeni, scientists for the space programme.”

“And the Doctor worked for UNIT in the UK. So you stretched a point?” Yu asked, beginning to understand a little more, liking it even less. “Do you put tramp stamps in uncooperative human scientists too?” he demanded, archly.

Laoh looked horrified. “No! Of course not! Sometimes we have to remove one though.”

Yu leaned back in his chair.. “Is that where you got the idea?” he asked.

“Perhaps. It wasn't my idea to begin with.”

Yu looked about the office; it was a functional office, made homily by two framed photos, presumably of the Brigadier's wife and child and parents. An inspirational poster was taped on the wall with quotes from Confucius and Mao, a vase of artificial lilies in front of it. Obviously, Laoh was trying to make himself at home. He leaned forward and sipped his tea, staring at Laoh, waiting.

“I was perfectly willing to share my theories, equations, and findings, you know,” Yu said after a while of silence and tea sipping and staring at one another over the desk and tea tray. “I had insisted the Doctor bring me home to do just that. But instead, here, and in Shanghai and Beijing, I was tortured. Under guard in Brussels I was beaten so many times I lost count. Now, you expect me to cooperate and accept that things a have changed and an apology is enough.”

“Things have changed. And I appreciate an apology is too little, too late. I not only regret all you went through, I ask for personal forgiveness. I had no knowledge, nor did my colleague, Major Ling. We were over-seeing the Doctor. All we ever intended was for you to be held hostage against the Doctor's good will, as his companion.”

“You don't want to do that,” Yu said, narrowing his eyes. “You will find him a very formidable enemy.”

Laoh made a scoffing noise and put down his tea. “You have see him? Yes? Formidable? Hardly!”

Yu put down his own tea. “The more you push, the worse it will eventually be. I've seen him in action. But to clarify, there are no charges against me? No one is planning my execution to harvest my organs?”

“No.” Laoh poured more tea, pausing for a moment, looking down. He looked up with genuine sadness in his eyes. “I regret that you were ever threatened. Your honoury commission has been stripped, that is all the official action that has been taken, and that is because I have no choice Professor Chan. You have been dishonourably discharged from the People's Army for inverted behaviour. Once the Doctor has given us what we need for the Twenty Year Plan for solar system habitation and resource stripping, you will be free to go. You may travel with him or return to your post at Beijing University, Professor. The only charge can be of no surprise, you must have known its risk, even before your flight in the Shenzhou 19 and your adventures with the Doctor. Yet you worked hard for the Chinese People's Space Programmes. Even now, with your equations and Mars moving out of perihelian, we should over-take the Indian Mission to Mars. As you said, you were prepared to help.”

Yu sipped his tea thoughtfully, listening carefully to Laoh. Now he replaced his tea gently and said mildly, biting down on all his anger for all the Doctor had been put through, and his own appalling treatment, “What exactly do you want of me?”

“We have a team of scientists. Astrophysics and mathematicians and engineers. They have been working on your equations and formulae since your disappearance, getting nowhere slowly. All I want is you to explain them.”

“Is that all?”

“It's a start. If you could encourage the Doctor to give us artificial gravity and initial dampeners to go with them, or even faster than light equations, then the Chinese People would be very grateful.”

Yu looked at Laoh's inspirational poster. “Will I be given credit? Or, like Turing, will I disappear from history until homophobia disappears from China? You know as well as I why I was so badly beaten repeatedly, Brigadier Laoh.”

Laoh looked down. He had no answer.

 

*

 

Much later in the evening, in the Infirmary, the Doctor had returned, leaving Benny to go back to their room with a little light psychological reading, and Ace to do whatever she planned with the pilot and/or the guard, in the Refectory. The Doctor preferred not to think about it too deeply. If at all.

The silent nurse met him at the door. “The patient has become agitated again Doctor. I gave him more paracetamol for the pain he is in, but I dare not risk a sedative in his condition. Especially considering all those deemed safe for his alien physiognomy are very heavy. The team's approach in Brussels was effective, if crude, in my opinion. I don't want to pacify him Doctor Smith, I want to make him comfortable.”

“It's alright nurse. It's a shame about the analgesic as I had intended to do a full hands-on exam. I've looked at the toxicology and I'm wondering if a tincture of valerian might be efficacious. I'll see after I've run my tests. In the meantime I'd like to start him on a course of iron, folate, and B12 shots. The mineral and vitamin screens have already been complete and are pretty clear. How are we doing with the tox screens nurse?”

As they talked, they had crossed the large Infirmary to the side ward that this time they had put the Doctor in. Now, as the nurse was about to reply, the Doctor called through the open door,

“You are not going to drug me!”

“Acute hearing nurse,” 'Doctor Smith' muttered under his breath, staying hopefully in character. He turned to look at this other universe version of himself. “Yet you accepted analgesics. Until you can process all you've been through, something to help you sleep and keep the flashbacks at bay might help, h'm?” The Doctor grinned at his possible future self. Then he turned to the nurse and snapped, “Chase my results, will you? I'll be down to the labs myself later, but see what is happening now.”

“Yes Doctor Smith,” she replied briskly, turning on her heel she left the room.

The Doctor shut the door behind her and came into the room further, standing foot of the bed, suddenly hesitant. The future older, yet younger looking, Doctor glared at him, sitting back, propped up by pillows, looking wan and washed out but angry.

“Well,” the younger Doctor said in his soft, Scottish lilt. He glanced up behind the other's Doctor for a second and then positioned himself in such a way that the camera in the far corner could not catch his face in anyway. It was a basic black and white closed circuit four second click picture frames unit, anyway. 

“As a rescue plans go, this is rather mystifying,” his future self snapped archly, in his affected London accent.

The Doctor undercover, the pretend human Doctor Smith, looked alarmed, then looked behind him and checked the door was shut properly. “We're working on it. And I wasn't joking. I'm concerned about you. I'd like to examine you.”

“Working on it how?”

“We're here, aren't we? We've impeccable undercover identities. Ace is working on an escape plan as we speak. Benny and I have to remain undercover and in character. At least it is us pretending to play doctor and shrink rather than real ones, who might push you in your vulnerable state subtly, as is our brief. It might take Ace days. This Base is as tight as a drum. You must trust us. Trust Ace. I know you don't know Bernice in your universe.”

“I'd trust Ace with my life. Lives. Any and all of them. Several times over. In any universe,” the skinny, pale, Doctor replied, seriously, meeting his former self's brilliant blue eyes with his hazel ones.

'Doctor Smith' nodded, then smiled. “Might I?” he asked, blowing on his hands.

The other Doctor nodded, and slid down the bed, lying flat, and raised jumper, shirt and tee shirt.

The shorter Doctor bit back a gasp, the bruising was far more awful in real life than photos on a laptop screen. He reached out and tentatively touched the purple and yellow, blue and green, abdomen.

~contact~

~contact~

~You must trust us. My TARDIS is nearby. She will interface with yours and connect to her dematerialisation and coordinate settings~

~Now there is a battle of wills! I hope both hide their secrets~

~they will. I trust the old girl. Whichever one we get to, the other will dematerialise and follow~

~follow where?~

~a planet where things appear as yet untouched by the disaster that triggered the temporal embolism. We're in a pocket dimension, a bubble, I think, or Ace thinks, actually, and I trust her, I've been worrying about you more so... anyway~

~makes sense. The safe planet. But Ace's theories. I've had things on my mind too~

~I've taken Madam Chan there, it's a Chinese settled planet in the twenty sixth century. I wanted to make sure she was okay~

~why?~

~ask your boyfriend. My dear Doctor, you ought to pay more attention to your companion's concerns. Particularly if you are having intimate relations with them~

~You have no right...!... Why?~

~No interior damage~ the younger Doctor thought, carrying on with his physical examination through the telepathic exchange. ~Good. Bruising will heal. You're taking longer than normal. That is to be expected with the demands on your body~

~What?~

~you know Doctor~

~NO!!! I don't know! And neither do you!~

BRICKS. A WALL. A shutdown and lockout, brick by brick, the damaged, older, Doctor from another universe built his mental shields as high and as thick as he could. The younger Doctor pushed against the barrier but all he got, all that leaked out, was an imagine of a clean shaven, short-haired, white, good looking, man in a human suit, laughing hysterically. The Doctor didn't recognise him but knew still,

~Master!~ he thought, shocked.

~GO AWAY~ the traumatised Doctor mentally shouted at his younger self. Mental steel shutters slammed down over the imagine and the feelings of terror and despair and abandonment.

The Doctor, the younger, shorter, Doctor who looked older to mere humans, let out an exasperated gasp before lifting his hands and taking a step backwards away from the bed.

The older, taller, Doctor, who appeared younger on the outside, turned on his side, his back to his younger self, and curled up into a foetal ball, biting back a sob.

 

*

 

It was almost midnight when the Doctor returned to the room he shared with Ace and Bernice. He woke Benny by accident as he stumbled in, the night light not giving much light by the door. She had fallen asleep over her research in the arm chair. She snapped on the light.

“And what time do you call this young lady?” she joked, expecting Ace. Her smile froze on her face. “Oh. It's you Doctor. Sorry about that. I didn't expect you back until morning. Sleep, as you frequently say, is for tortoises. Where have you been?”

“In the labs. Running profiles on his bloods, accidentally deleting all I can as I go.” He scowled in the direction of Ace's camp bed. “Where's Ace?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Or better,” Benny replied with false cheer.

“I doubt that,” the Doctor replied darkly, sitting down on the bed, then putting his feet up and lying back, his hands behind his head on the pillow. He sighed deeply.

“Alright then?”

“Are you? Why haven't you gone to bed?”

“Oh, you know. Studying!” Benny waved a psychology text book at the Doctor.

“One can read in bed. Rather cosy too,” the Doctor sighed again and leapt back up off the bed. “I'll make some tea. Why don't you have a hot bubbly bath?”

Benny sighed deeper than the Doctor and put down her book. “Okay. How is he doing?”

“I'm trying to help the Doctor and disguise it as scientific research. He is very traumatised. And I don't often admit that about myself, Bernice,” the Doctor smiled ironically.

Benny just looked at the Doctor, thinking all he went through with the Monk, with all the trauma of several alternate timelines the renegade Time Lord had created, all for mischief, all to hurt the Doctor. And more recently, aboard the Ship whilst she had been stuck in Paris. Had he recovered from his PTSD yet, himself? How many layers did he carry? True, until Southall hadn't been the expected happy party for Diwali they had planned to visit, they had been having a break – shopping in the most interesting and colourful markets and malls, partying at festivals and carnivals throughout human and alien space alike, lazing on pink beaches, walking through temperate forests, picnicking and chilling – and perhaps it had done them all good. Bizarrely, Ace had put aside her love of building better bombs and chemistry altogether, and been reading maths and temporal physics when not swimming and rock-climbing. The Doctor had tinkered with his new-old time ship, getting to know the alternative universe version, tweaking settings, stabilizing the rooms, not fixing the chameleon circuit, of course. Meanwhile, Benny had taken the time to re-read and edit her diary, plus begin to write a history of the Martians before the Red Dawn of Environmental Disaster. They'd even had a few pleasant visits, before they were even Warriors. Earth had twinkled in the twilight, a blue 'star' full of Silurian cities and dinosaurs. 

“Are you really okay Doctor?” she asked, looking at him deeply.

He looked sadly back at her. “I'll have to be, Benny, as he really isn't. Shall I draw your bath?”

 

*

 

Throughout the night on Base 27, people slept fitfully.

One young guard lay awake wondering what the pilot had over him, and what he could do to interest the beautiful Dorothy McShane. Even her name was exotic and foreign, like her soft brown hair and white skin.

One pilot lay awake, worrying he had talked to much. He was sure he had bored her with his talk of security arrangements and codes. Was that why she left when she thought he had fallen asleep?

Two young guards, assigned to minding the train container and its alien contents, the tall blue box, slept the sleep of a 51st century sleep patch, as it dissolved in their skin. A 'forget' dissolved right alone side.

Ace was awake, wide awake, blown away by the coral and metal struts, the raised console, the battered yellow chair, the entire grunge feel of the console room. She climbed the steps after a while, she didn't have long, after all, and circled the very different looking console panels. Eventually she found the telepathic circuits and leant on them, and was welcomed with such warmth and love. She looked up at the showy, huge time rotor and thought the question, “Where do I put the coordinate slaver?”

Ling sat up a long while in his small quarters, going over the medical data they had accumulated on the Doctor he'd copied onto his laptop, wondering at it more and more. It disturbed him and fascinated him both, and that scared him, made him ask questions of who he was.

Several of the new team of scientists sat up, pouring over Professor Chan's data, tearing their hair as they tried and failed to make head nor tail of it, while other members of the team slept fitfully, dreaming of equations whose solutions ran away, hiding around corners.

Yu had been returned to his cell, to find a proper bed, a desk, paper, log, sine, and cosine books, and a decent meal. Despite all that, he too dreamt fitfully, seeing again and again the recordings of the Doctor's suffering in a European brothel, shaking with powerless rage as he slept.

Laoh sat up, trying and failing to get into deep Buddhist meditation. Religion was frowned on in Party and Army, but his grandparents had kept their beliefs throughout the dark days of the Cultural Revolution and up until now, it gave a little comfort. Was what they were doing right, he wondered? Perhaps humanity deserved to become extinct, they had brought the destruction upon themselves. Chan could get them to the Mars and the asteroids without his alien boyfriend, but petty prejudice had stopped him. Salamander could have saved the environment, but his ambition and greed had controlled his ego more than his scientific knowledge.

Benny dreamt she was sixteen again, climbing the military school fence and running and running through the forest, in pain and fear, blood seeping from her torn insides, blaming herself for being a mouthy girl in a man's world.

The Doctor lay beside the whimpering Benny and held her, his mind shielding himself from her nightmare in the touch, trying and failing not to wonder what Ace was up to, and with whom, while his subconscious was chasing the possibility that he would be forced into prostitution and multiple raped sometime in the future; the possibility that his Universe could degenerate into the War, the Time War, that Gallifrey would come out of hiding and take on the might of the Daleks and destroy Known Time Herself. He was Time's Champion, should he act on this foreknowledge? The future Doctor had fought himself to stop the leakage of such knowledge.

Yet, he had already known. He had already sensed something...

On top of all that, the last bit that had oozed from the future Doctor's mental shielding, the Master, one day the Master would introduce a new rule, would break the rules of the game, and was going to rape...

The other Doctor, the future, other universe, Doctor, whimpered in his sleep, unable to wake due to his unnatural ill health, and stress induced, fatigue. He was sleeping on the floor of the bridge of the Valiant, in the tent, when a cold hand caressing his face awoke him, and he was pulled out by his legs, powerless and weak, raped over and over, that laugh, the laugh of the Master, sounding in his ears and in his mind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slight trigger warning for two characters triggered to their own rape memories and post rape trauma, and also for a fear a future rape trigger with the Seventh Doctor.
> 
> A note about Professor Bernice Surprise Summerfield: for those not familiar with the Virgin New Adventures and/or the comic strip in the early to mid nineties of the Doctor Who Monthly. Created by Paul Cornell, she was the Rose or Ace or Sarah Jane of her day, the most awesome companion ever, consistently voted so in polls. She went on to launch Big Finish before they got the license from the Beeb. She left the Doctor but went on to work with/for (and more!) his brother, Irving Braxiatel. Obviously you can Wiki her to your hearts content if curious, but my point here is, her memory of what happened when she was 16 is canon, as is her borderline alcoholism. She has a special place in my hearts, second equal along with a few classic companions and Donna, to Ace's natural place as first :)


	17. Testing the water and testing times, 28th November 2023

When Benny and the Doctor, who despite insisting sleep was for tortoises, had dozed for some three hours, awoke, Ace was snoring in her camp bed.

The Doctor fetched breakfast for the three of them from the Refectory while Benny made tea, and then, over noodles and chrysanthemum tea, they made plans.

*

A mile away, and half a mile deeper, Yu was brought a decent breakfast, and hot water to wash and shave with, then led to the conference room, where some ten scientists, mostly Chinese, but some British and Arab refugees as well as ANZAC-SEP Aussies and Kiwis, were waiting for him to explain his sling-shot, gravity-bounce, theory of acceleration.

Yu squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He had invented this, he had been testing it when he fell down that wormhole. He was not breaking any laws of time, the Doctor could not object.

Still, he could play for time, take as long as he needed.

It had been a long while, almost three years, since he given a lecture.

“Good morning,” he said, as he stood before the lectern, white and black and smart boards behind him.

*

As she began her shift in the Infirmary, the nurse found the Doctor asleep on the floor, tangled in his sheets, having soiled himself, and more bruised than ever. She bleeped Doctor Smith immediately.

* 

“Time to go,” the Doctor said, looking at the pager he had been given on arrival.

“Want me to go with you?” Ace asked, mouthful of noodles.

“No. I need my PA for meetings and research, this is medical. Carry on with your reconnoitre without arousing suspicion. We'll meet for lunch.”

Ace grinned and faked a salute and turned to Benny, who was sat up in bed, sipping tea, hung over on too much brandy, emotion, and poor sleep.

 

*

The Doctor looked at his future self with sadness. “Nurse, get me the Brigadier, please,” he said and watched her walk away. “Soon now,” he mouthed. “Are you in much pain?” he asked aloud.

“I had a nightmare and fell out of bed.”

“It is an appalling tiny bed, not really a bed but a stretcher on wheels. The Nurse should have put up the barriers.” The Doctor took his future self's hand.

~contact~

~nightmares. Yes. I've been having a few of those. Ace is working out security and routes out now. She's slaved your TARDIS console to mine~

~yours is here?~

~nearby. They will expect us to go to the train dock once they realise we're helping you escape. Distraction, sleight of hand, and so on. You will see Benny soon. Be nice~

~I'm always nice~

The Doctor's laughter echoed in his both own heads.

~sometimes I worry I'm too much like the Master~

But neither could tell which one thought it, nor who had begun the hysterical telepathic laughter first.

The younger Doctor let go and began to busy himself with sorting out vitamin shots and tablets.

“You've eaten breakfast?” he checked.

“Nope. Just vomited up supper,” the taller Doctor responded with some acid and bile in his voice as much as he was tasting it in his mouth.

“Ah,” the shorter responded.

“And I don't want to talk about it!” the older Doctor added, snapping more harshly than he meant.

“One day,” the other Doctor replied mildly in his Scottish brogue. “Ah, Nurse, did you get hold of Brigadier Laoh?”

“He is busy until lunchtime, but Doctor Summerfield needs you. She is in the conference room we have assigned to you.”

“Thank you nurse. I'll be back later Doctor. When his nausea passes, giving him a gentle breakfast, Nurse.”

“Of course Doctor,” she replied. The Doctor winked at his future self as he left.

 

*

 

Benny was once again struggling with her distress. She had been shown the silent slightly jumpy film of the Doctor's troubled night spent in the locked side ward of the Infirmary.

“It looked like he was really vocal, he's suffering from severe post-rape trauma for real, Doctor,” she said to her Doctor over lunch. “He needs real help, and I am sure psychological help for a Time Lord ought to be on Gallifrey.”

“What are you suggesting, we take him home when we get out of here? Benny, he's from a different universe! My Gallifrey's CIA will make mincemeat out of him, he carries dangerous knowledge of possible futures. It makes him more powerful that Rassilon. They won't like that!”

“I wasn't suggesting that! I was suggesting... oh! I don't know!” Benny stood up and began to pace, pulling at her hair.

“Besides, we are sorting the mess out first or neither of us will have the right universe,” Ace said from the back of the room from the floor, where she was sitting, drawing maps and plans carefully.

Benny and the Doctor turned to look at her.

“A mess so big, spiralling out from a wrongly placed fascist Britain that it's threatening both our universes and will take two Doctors to fix,” Ace went on to their staring faces. “You said so yourself Professor. And you Benny, you know this is not how it's meant to be.”

“I know the twenty first century is a transition period, a bloody, violent time, possibly the most bloody century in human history. I don't know the details, but I do know that Britain is supposed to remain pretty stable politically and economically and provide all sorts of templates for a future United Earth.”

“The Magna Carta. The Bill of Rights. Parliamentary Democracy. Four countries in one Kingdom. That sort of thing, do you mean, Benny?” the Doctor asked.

“You know I do.”

“The Union of Solar Republics and the Rights of Aliens, the Confederacy of Colonies, the Galactic Federation, all depend on the Magna Carta,” the Doctor said. “As did the Courts of Human Rights, the United Nations, everything that right now is being discredited and falling apart. Where we are have a civilized and ancient people, but they tend towards the autocratic and the oppressive. Humans in the future will have a very different template once out in the stars if...”

“You mean they don't already?” Ace asked, wincing at her mangling of tenses, as from when she was, she was speaking of the future. “What about the Earth Empires, the IMC...?”

“But they hold themselves up to a model and find themselves wanting – a model of equal rights just by being sentient, not by being rich or powerful, about checks and balances on power, about justice,” the Doctor replied to Ace, pacing up and down, adopting a lecturing stance, as he fiddled with his jacket lapels. “That was reimagined and reinvented in two very important points in British History, in the thirteenth and seventeenth centuries, everything else just added onto it. But it's been discredited, throwing the human rights out with the bathwater, as it were...”

“Exactly!” Ace interrupted the Doctor, as Benny, having sat back down, just seemed content to listen to his lecture. “And we need to get time back on track, so we need to get skinny boy and his boyfriend out of here, and look after them as we sort out the fragging Monk!”

“Right. In the meantime...?” Benny asked.

“Just be gentle Benny, to yourself and my future self,” the Doctor replied, putting his arm across her shoulders and resting his forehead on hers as she turned her head and bent down toward him, leaning into the touch. “But first things first, let's look at Ace's plans and work out a time frame, and then we meet with Laoh after lunch and get the Doctor his own proper room, Chan Yu too, if we can. It will make escape when easier the time comes.”

 

*

Four harrowing hours later Benny met the Doctor and Ace outside the door to Laoh's office, or rather, the base commander's office that Brigadier Laoh had appropriated less than 24 hours before they had arrived. Harrowing that was for Benny, having had her first two hour session as the Doctor's therapist. In the meantime, the other two had been productive; her Doctor has been busy in the labs, accidentally deleting as he studied the data from Europe and the base, and Ace had been befriending the young guard during his off-rota afternoon, and had gained some productive information concerning the few CCTV cameras and where there were laser traps, along with all kinds of security lock-down information. Ace and the Doctor looked at Benny enquiringly as she walked up to them in the corridor. She looked drawn and wan, and carried herself with defeat. The Doctor and Ace had already arrived at the office some minutes previously when Benny wearily approached them.

“How did it go?” Ace asked, as the Doctor put a gentle hand on Benny's shoulder.

“One-way mirror, and recording devices, as you predicted. Who knows who was behind the mirror. Started with getting to know you, putting you at your ease stuff. He sneered and was a trifle sarcastic and majorly uncooperative, and fell back on being arrogant and above human emotions. Nothing surprising there then, as I know you,” Benny reported.

Ace grinned as the Doctor scowled.

“Oh, let's just get this over with,” Benny snapped, and knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Ace opened the door and gestured to the Doctor and Benny, and, taking her notebook and pen out of her black leather shoulder handbag, followed them in. Three chairs were arranged in front of Laoh's desk, and a second one placed next to his, where sat Major-Doctor Ling, whose role Ace had yet to completely determine. Military Major, Medical Doctor, Head of Secret Services in Europe, Experimental Xeno-Scientist. He had many titles. Ace was highly suspicious of him. He acted as if he were under Laoh's command, and yet she felt he could control or destroy Laoh if he chose.

“Ah. Dr. Smith. Dr. Summerfield. Come in. And the charming Ms McShane,” Laoh said. 

Ace narrowed her eyes at him, she didn't like the way he said her surname, like he was implying he knew something about her. Still, she managed to remember to stay in character. “Sir,” she said, closing the door and standing to attention.

“Please. Sit down. I am extremely busy with plans for the Shenzhou 21. Professor Chan has been most cooperative this morning. How are you both getting along with the Doctor?”

The Doctor and Benny looked at each other, and the Doctor pointed to Benny, who cleared her throat and began, “I had little success with him this morning. Some is to do with his natural suspicions of us as a species and an organization, after all he has been through. I believe I managed to convince him I was there just to help him, a neutral party who knew nothing of the Chinese Government's plans. I told him about the ANZAC-SEP Exchange, so as far as he is concerned I'm still an Australian. I think he may begin to trust me to be neutral. However, there is a lot of natural resistance to therapy per se that I frequently experience in male rape victims and PTSD suffers, which is surprising, considering he is an alien.”

“In some ways he is like us, in other, more surprising ways, nothing at all,” Ling mused, interrupting Benny.

“He is biologically male, all said, with testosterone, despite the more startling differences,” the Doctor replied, glaring at Ling. He didn't like Ling's obsession with his future self at all. It chilled him to the bone, not that he had shared that, even with Ace. Of course, they wished Benny in the dark over certain aspects, and that suited him just fine for the moment. Her reactions might complicate matters even more, and poor Benny was suffering enough with being triggered right back to her own youth and terrible experience. He wished he had considered her more when making plans, but the truth was, he was ashamed to admit to himself, he had forgotten.

He realised the conversation had gone on without him, Benny was doing a fine impression of a genuine shrink. She was looking at him as she was finishing her summary.

“I recommend he be given a proper room. I understand he was put in a cell for a while, and has since spent his time in the Infirmary under guard and lock and key. I think it would be better for him to have some privacy, and access to a bathroom to himself. He feels himself dirty after experience in Europe, and being able to shower and bathe would help him considerably. I also feel returning his clothing and belongings – apart from anything that might help him escape, naturally - might put him at his ease.”

“Has he said he feels dirty?”

“He doesn't need to, Brigadier. I can tell that from his body language. You kindly let me examine his clothing and belongings earlier, and he has soft toys among them, as well as other toys and books. I think he needs to feel comforted. If he thinks I gained these concessions for him, he will trust me better in our next session.”

“I concur, for what it is worth,” the Doctor added. “From a medical point of view, he needs to be rested and cared for. A better bed, access to a bathroom, and perhaps the ability to make himself some tea. This sounds exactly what the Doctor ordered!”

Ace groaned, “Dr. Smith, that is a terrible pun!”

“What?” the Doctor feigned surprise. “Oh, I see what I did. You must forgive me, silly me,” he giggled with fake nervousness.

“The return of his clothing will further make him feel secure,” Benny went on, glaring at Ace as if they were rivals for Dr Smith's affection. “I read the UNIT files on him on our flight over – he seems in each incarnation to almost bond with a particular style of clothing. Obviously a security device.” She turned and grinned at the Doctor. “Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Smith?”

The Doctor tried not to shift uncomfortably in his seat. Benny was doing a scarily good job as a genuine shrink. “I bow to your expertise Dr. Summerfield,” he managed to reply.

 

*

The Doctor was bored. The nausea had passed a few hours ago, and all assessments and treatments – and visits from his previous persona – had long since passed. Alone and silent with his thoughts he worried about Yu, worried about Yu's mother, about Yu worrying about his mother, and felt guilty for not asking anything, for being selfish about clinging to Yu – it was his mother he wanted to go back to see more than to give reports to the Chinese Space Agency. Since his past self had alluded to Mrs Chan, he had begun to feel this was something other than the natural maternal fear of Jackie, or the manipulated and lied to fear of Martha's mother, or the almost abusive controlling and belittling relationship that Donna's mother had with her.

It had better be – Yu was an adult man in his thirties, not a young woman! Of course, he would have been the apple of her eye, spoilt rotten as a child, they all were, the generations of the one child policy.

He realised that not only had Yu been shown videos of his rapes, and tortured, they were probably threatening his mother, holding her ransom to his cooperation and help.

Still, it obviously wasn't his past mistakes that Time's Champion cleared up, but future ones.

Such a tiny, sterile room, not even a spider or fly to watch to alleviate boredom and guilt.

The door suddenly swung open with force and one of the soldiers that had taken him away from Yu almost three nights ago came in, followed by the other one, who again carried the rifle, but not pointed at him, but slung low, just for emphasis. They were followed by the nurse.

The Doctor sat up quickly and stared at them, startled, ready to at least say something sarcastic, even if he couldn't escape. Wait his former self had told him.

“Come with us Doctor, please,” the nurse said.

“Why?”

He was surprised by the answer. “Dr. Smith and Dr. Summerfield's orders. We are giving you a better room.”

They walked a long while, then went up a lift, and then walked for what seemed like miles, then down another lift, and out into a wider corridor, carpeted and well lit, looking more like a hotel than a base.

“Are these the actual living quarters?” he asked, curious and disbelieving.

This time he got no answer, until they came to a particular door. The unarmed soldier unlocked it with a key card and nurse gestured with her arm.

“These are your quarters now. You will be locked in, and a guard will be outside, but you will have privacy. You will be fetched for any medical or psychological therapy, and when the doctors have deemed you well enough, for interrogation. Or perhaps, just for information, as by then, we hope you will have decided to assist the Chinese People's Space Programme and Twenty Year Plan with your knowledge.”

“Does it have a bathroom?” the Doctor asked, hating himself for something so mundane, but all he wanted was a long soak in bath followed by a shower, or vice versa. He wanted to feel clean. He wasn't sure it was possible, after all that had been done to him, all he had done, in Europe. He felt impure and stained in wholly personal and disturbing way, compared to the dark stains on his soul caused by mistakes he had made throughout the cosmos or the use of the Moment.

“Yes,” the nurse replied, and gave him a little shove in the small of his back. Although small, she was very strong, and he stumbled, the momentum taking him into the room. The door was shut behind him without another word. It was pitch black.

The Doctor was immediately panicked, his breathing coming out in ragged breaths after an involuntary yelp of atavistic fear of the dark.

“Come on Doctor,” he muttered to himself. “Brave heart Doctor. Find the light switch. They said they wanted to give you better conditions. I think.”

Or it's psychological torture. It's what they have Bernice Summerfield doing. Or should be doing.

“Shut up! And I like Benny. Or would, I think. If I knew her. And I evidently do. Light switch Doctor!”

He reached out into the dark, turning around and feeling the shut door and then worked his way across the wall beside it with his hands until he hit the switch. 

Light flooded the room. He turned around and saw a double bed, a chair and table, wardrobe, kettle, ... but his only subconsciously took in the room, an en-suite hotel type ordinary room...

The Doctor embarrassed himself by squealing and throwing himself on the bed, hugging his coat, his brown suit, and then the black coat the Master had given him, rifling through the trans-dimensional pockets until he found his toy rabbit he had bought in Brussels.

“Fizzy! Fizzy Fizzy Fizzy! Fizzallundra!” the Doctor cried joyfully, kissing and squeezing the battered, dirty, white soft toy. “I'm so, so glad they didn't destroy you! Yu is okay. He's not dead, that is. I think he's as well as I am. Which isn't very, is it? I'm talking to you!”

“Have a bath stinky!” the Doctor made the toy say in a high pitched squeak!

“Yes. Yes! Bath!” the Doctor bounced up and skipped to the bathroom, where generic toiletries and a razor were laid out. He looked in the mirror and ran his hand over his stubble, although not as much as he was expecting, not having shaved since Beijing. He noted it and filed it away in a big, locked, box of things to deal with sometime in the future, and started running a bath, tipping in every possible thing to make bubbles.

Once naked in the bath, he sat there, after he had scrubbed and scrubbed his bruised body, and hugged his knees, and putting his head down, began to rock and sob. As he said to Yu, he didn't feel very much like the Doctor. He body seemed to carry the memories of the rapes, even when his mind shut it out. He hoped the Other Doctor would get him out soon. He was sure he might feel more like himself in the TARDIS.

Of course, if it hadn't been for Aafreen, he might be his new self. The thought rape could have triggered a regeneration suddenly haunted him more than the memories of the brothel, or the back streets of Poland, or the Master onboard the Valiant. Everything triggered everything else...

Smashing though the glass in the fire to escape the deformed Master and get out of his TARDIS as quickly as possible on Traken, in the Keeper's seat. He was deluding himself that the Master had never...

Curled up, bleeding, dying... 

No, he didn't die. He didn't!

'Hello pretty,' the man had hissed in his ear. 'Shall we have fun?' the Doctor remembered, shuddering. He let out a primal howl and smashed his forehead into the edge of the bath!

*

Much later the Doctor climbed out of the now cold bath, dried quickly and dressed in his own brown suit and coat and curled up under the bedding, clutching tightly at his toy rabbit, and the teddy bear from the box of his possessions that had been taken from his pockets in the Chinese Embassy over a month ago. Naturally, the sonic screwdriver and psychic paper were not with his other possessions returned to him.

Donna had won the bear for him at a fair on some human colony in the 29th century. It had been fun, they'd eaten green candy floss and toffee not-apples, some local equivalent, more like toffee peaches. He'd won her a ginger haired, green eyed, baby doll at the shooting range, and she'd hooked a duck and chosen the fluffy pink bear with the rainbow ribbon for him.

“There you go, you gay spaceman, a pride bear.”

The Doctor had grinned and hugged it. “Thank you. I shall call him Oscar Quentin.”

“You daft 900 year old baby boy!” she had laughed.

“What about you? What will you call the doll?”

Donna looked at it, and wondered at all the cruel names she'd been called at school due to her hair. “Poor ginger thing,” she had said.

“Oi! Your hair is gorgeous! Don't you do that! I wish I was ginger. So many lives, but never ginger. I'd love to be ginger!”

“That's coz you're weird, Doctor! You give her name.”

“A fine royal ginger name. Elizabeth. No, Boudicca. A fighter, like her 'mum'.”

“Don't you ever grow up?” she smiled up at him fondly.

“Only when I have to,” he had grinned back.

Boudicca sat in Donna's old room, on her dressing table, still exactly as she left it. He couldn't even give it to Wilf to give back, it would trigger memories.

He curled up tighter and wept helplessly. He missed Donna like an ache. Like Jamie. Like poor Adric.

Later, they came to fetch him for his session with Bernice Summerfield. She commented that he was more secure in his own clothes, she hoped, then passed him tissues and let him talk about Donna, not caring if he was recorded. 

What had become of Donna in 2020s Britain? And more worryingly, what had become of Micky and the Joneses?

An hour later Dr 'John Smith' gave him vitamin shots and took more urine and blood samples and then he was returned to the room, given a meal, and left alone. He returned to curling up in a foetal position, silently weeping, after forcing himself to eat while he wasn't nauseous. He would need the fuel.

~soon~ the brief telepathic contact had told him ~perhaps even tonight~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. The heatwave is having a detrimental affect on health, as is the continuing PIP thing and now a change of care provision with my local council - they want to steal my DLA to pay for care they don't provide, and over the past 5 years, I can never find enough or any care with my direct payment, and I don't get back the £6+ they take every week from my account to the one I can only access to pay for care, even if I have none, so basically, we are talking about theft. Meanwhile, I am still imprisoned due to the wrong door being fitted by the Housing Association 33 days ago now. Still not spam or sausages though!!!!


	18. Still in the Base, 3rd December, 2023: The Escape.

The Doctor woke Benny and Ace with strong green tea, liberally sugared, at 2am. For the past few days they had played their parts, the Doctor trying his best to look after his future self whilst apparently studying him, managing to accidentally delete or lose as much data as he inputted. That evening he had added a retroactive computer virus that would activate within the following twelve hours, wiping out all references to Time Lord biodata, all notes and files pertaining to his pretended observations and experiments on his future self; medical, psychological, or otherwise. Meanwhile, Benny had played her part magnificently as a psychiatrist whilst she got to know his future self far better than he. Whether the other Doctor had learnt to trust her, or she help him, he was dubious at best. Ace, of course, when not needed as his 'PA', had continued her reconnoitre, making 'friends' and gathering Intel. All three of them had spent the last night going over their plans, tweaking and perfecting them. To say they were foolproof was to tempt fate.

Not that the Doctor was remotely superstitious, of course.

He had packed all that Ace and Benny wished to keep from their legends' clothing and books, and grudging, Ace's arms – perish the thought of her 25th century smart technology falling into 21st century China's hands! - into his satchel, which was, naturally, larger on the inside. Personally, he was glad to have discarded 'Dr. Smith's' dull, functional, wardrobe and be back in his own soft linen suit, silk shirt, and soft brushed suede shoes. Despite Benny's disturbingly accurate analysis annoying him, he had also pulled on his sleeveless pullover from his earlier years in this incarnation. Everything about this situation unsettled him; the suffering of his possible future incarnation, the hinted future of the Time Lords; two universes and two Doctor's intersecting in such a manner; the very real possibility of Mortimus manipulating the Time Lines and playing about with human history, in particular, British – or English to be exact – history. Mortimus had always been drawn to the Anglo-Saxon and to the Ancient Britain before them. He doubted that a starving, pariah, state, oppressing, killing, and expelling its citizens had been Mortimus' desired outcome. A glorious second British Empire, painting the planet, then the solar system, and finally the galaxy, pink was more likely his intention.

Ace surfaced first with the reflexes of a soldier, and took the tea. “Glad to be back in the TARDIS for coffee, if nothing else Professor,” she grumbled jokingly.

“Within hours, hopefully,” the Doctor replied, spooning sugared tea into a bleary-eyed, half-awake, Benny. “Wakey-wakey Bernice. Time to act.”

*

Half an hour later, dressed in their own clothes, Ace in her combat gear, the Doctor shouldered his satchel containing all they wished to keep and pulled out three pieces of purple ribbon from his jacket pocket and held them out, dangling them from his index finger. Each was looped round a copy of the TARDIS key and long enough to be worn around the neck.

“Okay ladies. Once each. Ace, maintain contact with the Commander at all times or the camouflage effect won't work for him. Benny? You know where you are going?”

“Yes, I think so,” Benny replied, dropping a mock curtsey at the 'ladies'. Ace laughed at the Doctor's confused look on his face.

“We ain't no ladies,” she said.

“Speak for yourself,” Benny replied archly, reaching out and putting the loop of ribbon around her neck. Instantly, she appeared to disappear.

Ace stared at where she had been, gobsmacked.

“I am here,” Benny said cheerfully, waving in Ace's face.

“It's like I can see you, but I can't. Or more like, I don't want to,” Ace said, mystified and impressed. “Like looking at you hurts. No, it's like I instantly forget I'm looking at you. Well devious, Professor. This is what you gave him, isn't it? But he got caught?”

“Yes. But he obviously took it off at some point. You and Benny are far too clever. As long as you keep it on, and hold Commander Chan Yu's hand, everything will be fine.”

The Doctor smiled his widest, most enchanting, smile. Ace and Benny pretended they didn't notice him cross his fingers behind his back.

Ace reached out and took the second key. She and the Doctor put on theirs at the same time, Bernice instantly once again visible to them both.

“See you at the back door, so to speak, the pedestrian entrance, at 4am, then, “ the Doctor said, walking towards the door. He opened it. “Shall we go?”

“And good luck to us all. May fortune favour the foolish,” Benny added.

Ace just looked at them both, nodded, then strode off towards the direction of the stairs down to the detention wing.

 

*

 

The Doctor didn't have to go very far at all, the other Doctor now also being held in the guest and residential floors. He hadn't bothered with his chameleon key once the girls had left the room. He merely closed his door and walked along the corridor nonchalantly until he came to the room his almost future self was imprisoned. He smiled at the very young man on guard duty outside, who was slouched against the door, looking very bored and half asleep.

“Hello,” he said softly, grinning.

“Oh. Hello Sir. Dr. Smith, isn't it?” the guard asked, mispronouncing Smith in, to the Doctor, the sweetest way. “Do you need to see the alien?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Okay Sir. Doctor.” The young man fumbled for the keycard in his pocket, and as he did so he couldn't help looking deeply into Dr. Smith's very bright blue eyes. So foreign. So fascinating. He'd never seen blue eyes not on a newborn baby before. So bright. No pale. Pale blue eyes. Or were they grey? Flecked with green? No, yellow maybe? So mesmerising...

“You will go to sleep now. That's it. Good boy. Sleep. When you wake, you will remember nothing of me, you will forget I was ever here. Forget. Sleep.”

The Doctor caught the young soldier as he started to fall and lay him gently in the corridor beside the wall next to the room door.

 

*

 

The Doctor sensed his almost former self outside the door. He had been curled up in a foetal position under the covers, fully dressed in his brown suit and tan coat. All his newly acquired possessions – all but Fizzallundra and Oscar-Quentin – he had put into the pockets of the black trench coat from the younger Master's TARDIS back in Berlin and then folded that up and put it into the beige, pink, and brown holdall he had bought in Brussels. He was ready. He had been ready for several nights now. Soon, he had been told.

His eyes snapped open. He hugged his soft toys tightly and strained both his ears and his telepathic senses to know what was going on the other side of the door, wondering how and if the Other would manage to get past the guard.

Something was obviously happening, so he flung off his bed clothes and sat upright just as the Other Doctor opened the door.

They stared at each other, all the older Doctor could see was his former self silhouetted in the door frame by the low night lighting of the corridor behind him, leaning on his umbrella, his hat back in place on his head

 

*

 

Ace slapped a 'sleep' on the guard's neck before he knew what was happening. He'd been sitting at the desk on the frontage of the detention block, facing the stairs and lifts, feet up on the desk, leant back in his chair, reading. He slumped sideways and forwards, his legs sliding off the table as the book slipped through his fingers.

“Sweet dreams, mate,” Ace said, picking up the keys from the desk.

 

*

 

Yu was startled when the door opened and an older version of a young woman he recognised from a framed photo on the Doctor's dressing table in his bedroom, stepped in, switching on the light.

“Get dressed then,” she said grinning, “you're being rescued.”

Yu, who had managed to sit up, his eyes widened, his mouth forming a silent oh, stumbled out, “Ace?”

“Yeah? You know me then?” Ace asked, confused.

“Only by reputation.”

She laughed, “Doctor been sharing happy snaps, has he? Commander Chan Yu, I take it?”

“Apparently, no longer. Can't have queer commanders, don't you know!” Yu snapped archly. “It's merely Professor Chan now, but Yu will do,” He smiled as he stood up and grabbed clothes, still holding the sheet over his middle.

Ace took in the six pack and abs and finely toned torso before she turned up back so Yu could pull on his jeans, shirt, leather jacket and biker boots.

“Not that I wish to put a downer on my rescue, but how will we get out of the base? And what about the Doctor?”

Ace grinned, “Don't you worry your pretty head about that. My Doctor is rescuing yours - him.”

“Two versions of the Doctor at the same time and place? Is that even allowed?” Yu exclaimed. Ace opened her mouth to reply, but he interrupted her. “Never mind. Have we got a minute though?”

“Suppose,” Ace shrugged. “Why?”

“I'm not going without Remy.”

Ace watched with bemusement as Yu picked up a few crumbs of his supper and held them to a crack in the skirting board, clicking his tongue. “Who the hell is Remy?” she asked, just as a two bright, inquisitive pink eyes, a small, furry nose with twitching whiskers, and then a white, furry, small, face emerged from the crack .

“Remy. My rat. Well, not mine, but he's been my only friend these last six weeks or so,” he glanced involuntarily at his tally of days scratched in the wall above the bed. Ace followed his gaze and saw too, and understood – anything to keep you sane!

“He's not a common rat, I suspect he's an escaped lab rat. He's very clever,” Yu went on, as he laid a trail of rice and dumpling crumbs. Once the rat had emerged fully into the cell, Yu grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and scooped him up, putting the trembling rodent into his leather jacket pocket, zipping it up halfway, leaving a gap big enough for air but small enough to encourage the rat to remain where he was.

“Sorry Remy. But without me to feed you, I don't know how you'll survive.” He then turned to Ace, now watching with a wry expression of amusement and curiosity and gave her a mock curtsy,

“Oh brave knight, how the fuck do we get out of here?”

“We hold hands,” Ace replied, mouth twitching in an effort not to laugh.

“What?”

Ace fingered the key, lifting from her chest. “This is some weird voodoo Time Lord magic shit the Doctor sorted out. It's not quite an invisibility thing, more a telepathic suggestion that we're not here. But I need to be in contact with you for it to work.”

“Ah, some kind of low level psionic field, perhaps? Part telepathy, part hypnosis, I would guess, generated by the chameleon and telepathic circuits of both TARDISes in tandem, probably piggy backing off the local base wifi. Interesting. Still...” Yu held out his hand to the gaping Ace, “if it works!”

Ace took his hand, “Oh it works,” she replied, grinning, and then added, “You and the Doctor must have fun together, babbling sweet scientific nothings at each other way beyond the ken of us mere mortals. How does he manage without someone to ask dumb questions and make him feel clever?”

Yu grinned dirtily, “Oh, I make him feel all sorts of other things.”

“Gross,” Ace replied flatly. “I don't want to know. Let's get going then. Two and half miles to the meet-up and we can't use the lifts. Might get picked up that way.”

 

*

 

Benny was quite breathless with all the stairs when she got to the correct office, the Ancillary Base Command Ordnance Office. It had taken Ace days to locate what they needed. It was what had been delaying them. But her hand-drawn map was precise, and she had had no problem finding it. Well, apart from all the stairs and lengthy corridors.

She slid the all-access keycard into the reader and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She switched on the light, meaning to give herself a few minutes to get her breath back before she began the search for the other Doctor's TARDIS key, sonic screwdriver, and something called 'psychic paper' – blank paper in a small, black, wallet case, apparently.

However, she was startled when Ling stepped out from behind a bank of old-fashioned, even for this century, grey, metal, filing cabinets.

“Fascinating device,” he said, fingering a TARDIS key on a pink ribbon around his neck.

Bernice was embarrassed by the half-shriek she let out. “Goddess! You startled me, Dr. Ling,” she said, recovering herself and trying to appear all ignorance and innocence, and still in her undercover character.

 

*

“What kept you?” the taller Doctor snapped, standing up and stuffing the soft toys into his suit jacket inside pocket. They vanished without a trace. “Close to my heart, my dears,” he muttered to his toys without realising he spoke aloud.

As the other Doctor was still silhouetted by the light outside the room, he did not see the shorter version of his former self raise a worried eyebrow at his unconscious talking to his stuffed animals. “Things to finalise, people to fool. Takes time. Come on, come on, we've not all day,” he snapped archly, to cover his concern.

The Doctor grabbed his bag and walked towards the door. “How will we not be seen?” he asked himself.

“With this,” the Other replied, dangling the key in front of his future's face. “As I'm wearing it, there will be no danger of my taking it off,” he again snapped in sarcasm, before grabbing his future's hand and leading the way down the corridor.

“What's with him?” the older Doctor asked, nodding down at the sleeping guard.

“He's having a bit of a lie down,” the younger Doctor replied, and tugged at his possible future self's hand, and , looking at his other self's trembling, he sighed and grabbed the bag, put it on his other shoulder, and led the way to the stairs. As they got to the stairwell, he asked, more solicitously, “You're not going to vomit are you?”

“Hopefully not,” the thinner Doctor replied, looking down at the seemingly endless stairwell. He wasn't sure if his rubbery, trembling, legs would make it though.

 

*

Ling stepped forward as Benny found herself backing up, pressing herself against another old-style grey filing cabinet by the door.

“Let's not pretend Dr. Summerfield. Are you really a doctor at all? Or a psychologist?”

“I'm an archaeologist. And it's professor, actually. What gave me away?”

“Nothing. You were very convincing. For all we knew you were exactly who you claimed to be, merely recruited by the other Doctor somehow. He always manages to charm women into doing anything, even dying, for him. Despite his lack of... interest in them, shall we say?”

Benny settled for raising a quizzical eyebrow and looking baffled, but wry and unconcerned. As her heart was thumping so loudly so wasn't sure it was working. No doubt Ling could hear the quickened heartbeat himself.

“We have no pictures of this incarnation of the Doctor in China, but he always calls himself John Smith. So predictable. I was immediately curiously I suspect Laoh knew straight away, having access to European and American UNIT files, plus Torchwood and the Consortium.”

“What's Torchwood?” Benny asked.

“A defunct British organization. It's no importance, Professor...?”

“Bernice Summerfield is my name.”

“So you didn't assume her identity?”

“I spent a week in Canberra faking her credentials.”

“Ah. How easy these things must be with a time machine.”

“What are you going to do? You're not armed. I'd say we were evenly matched.”

“But you want the Doctor – our Doctor's – belongings. It's why you are here, isn't it?”

“Um, yes. Do you have them? It would be awfully helpful and kind if you could just hand them over.”

“But, of course,” Ling said, stepping forward and opening a filing cabinet, completely surprising Benny.

“What? You're just going to give them to me then?”

“Why not? Laoh regretting the decision almost immediately, but like a good soldier, obeyed his orders as dutifully as he could.”

“What about you then, Doctor-Major Ling?”

“Ah. This other Doctor is fascinating. I had my own reasons, my own experiments. But now is the time to let him go. Here,” Ling handed Benny a ordinary looking Yale key, a larger, flashier, version of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, and a small, black, wallet case. She opened it up.

“Hello Bernice,” the blank paper inside began to form curling letters scrawling across it, “you're safe. No BS.”

“Give my regards to Ms. McShane – or should I say Ace?” Ling smiled. Then he took of the pink ribbon with the TARDIS key around his neck. “Adieu. Bon voyage,” he said in faultless French, before letting go of the key as it slid into Benny's outstretched hand.

Benny did not answer, she assumed she was now invisible to him. Instead, she turned and fled, hoping fervently she could remember the way to the disused, pedestrian, exit to the base at the bottom of the mountain.

*

As Ace and Yu came down the last flight of stairs and towards the last corridor, they heard the Doctor behind them. Of rather, the Doctors. Looking at each other, they wordlessly turned and started back up the steep, concrete, staircase.

Yu's Doctor was on his knees, wheezing and moaning, while Ace's Doctor was pulling at his arm, seemingly exasperated.

“I can't go on. I can't!”

“It's not much further. I promise. Come on.”

“My legs are like jelly. I can't Doctor. I need to rest.”

“You can rest in my TARDIS.”

“I'm so tired.”

“I'll just have to throw you over my shoulder then, won't I?” Ace's Doctor snapped.

Yu looked worriedly at Ace, almost startled by the suggestion.

Ace shrugged and said mildly, “He's far stronger than he looks, believe me. But it's a bit weird, carrying yourself.”

Yu stepped forward, pulling Ace with him as they were still holding hands.

“I'll carry him,” he said.

“Yes please,” his Doctor said, as Ace's Doctor replied tartly,

“We can manage. Mind over matter. Your Doctor is perfectly capable of getting up and running if he needed to.”

“He doesn't need to. I'm here,” Yu smiled down at his Doctor, who had by now curled up in the recovery position and was looking quite pale and rather greenish about the gills.

“Oh please,” Ace muttered, raising her eyebrows heavenwards. She noticed one of the few CCTV cameras, guarding the main stairwell and lifts to the entrances to the base, all accounted for, but she had forgotten in the drama of mushiness and queasiness. Its light was flashing green. “Problem is, you'll have to let go off me to pick up the skinny freak. And we are in complete and utterly in the opposite of a blind spot. Mega CCTV seeing city, more like.”

“Ah,” said her Doctor sagely, as the other Doctor said far more directly,

“Fuck.”

“It's okay. I am here, as always, to save the day,” Benny cheerfully quipped from above them all, climbing down the stairs to the half-landing on which the future Doctor was lying prone and retching and gasping and looking very ill. She held out with triumph, dangling it from her index finger, the specially configured TARDIS key from Ling. “Don't everyone thank me at once,” she said to their gaping faces.

“Cheers Benny,” Ace said, grinning, recovering first, taking the key and placing it around Yu's neck.

Yu instantly lifted his Doctor up into a fireman's lift and headed down the stairs. Ace followed and her Doctor made to go too, but was stilled by Benny's hand.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Ling was waiting. He let me go. He and Laoh recognised you and Ace. We've been outplayed.”

“Can't this wait Benny? If they are letting us go, let's go before they change their minds. It's still half a mile to the TARDIS. Did you get his TARDIS key, sonic screwdriver, and this so-called psychic paper?”

Benny patted her jacket pocket. “All present and correct.”

The Doctor put his hand on hers and squeezed, and it crossed her mind how incredibly stressful this rescue had been for him, trusting Ace to do his usual scheming while he watched helplessly as his future self fell apart. She squeezed back and smiled.

“Let's go,” she said. “Lead on. I don't know where we go past the door.”

 

*

 

It was dawn when they exited the base, the sky streaked with a dull pink across grey clouds. Plumes of ash and sulphur were in the air to the south-west, opposite the sunrise.

“Another one?” Benny asked, curiously.

“Out in the Pacific, I would estimate,” the Doctor replied. “Let's get out of here. Soonest left, soonest mended,” he added, as they caught up with everyone else, milling about in the clearing in front of the bamboo forest, waiting for the Doctor to take them to the TARDIS.

“Salamander is dead, his organization in disarray, his buried, tricked, starving, scientists liberated,” the tall and thin, the sick, Doctor added from over Yu's shoulder.

“Yes, interesting, isn't it?” the Other Doctor replied, pushing past everyone to take the lead. 

“Green Extreme, isn't it? The terrorists who blew up Iceland. They'll be trying to cool the southern hemisphere I guess,” Ace offered.

“This didn't happen,” Benny said firmly.

Her Doctor sighed and stamped the point of his umbrella down into the dry earth in annoyance. “Later!” he snapped. “Come on!” He pushed forcefully through the bamboo with his brolly. Everyone followed and soon could see the reassuring boxy, tall, blue shape through the foliage.

“Yu,” his Doctor said quietly from somewhere between his shoulder blades, “there seems to be a rat in your pocket.

“Yes there is,” Yu replied. “Meet Remy Doctor, I could hardly leave him, he'd starve.”

Ace laughed, and once she'd started, she found she couldn't stop. The release of tension, she guessed. Benny met her gaze and began to snicker too. Their Doctor scowled at them, before grinning widely and pulling of the key from around his neck and opening the TARDIS door.

“In you go,” he said, ushering them all in.

“Wow! It's bigger on the inside!” the older Doctor said, as Yu set him down on one of the armchairs. “I've always wanted to say that,” he added happily with a huge, infectious, grin. Ace thought it must be the first time she had seen the skinny boy smile, and he had a wide, happy, crazy smile, madder even than her own. She grinned back.

“Hang about,” she said. “What's going on? I'm not stupid!”

“Your first words,” he cooed, smiling up at her. 

“Trans-dimensional engineering, it means...” she added.

“It's bigger on the inside!” they finished together,

Meanwhile, Yu had been looking around. He had yet to see his own Doctor's main console room, and had been travelling in the small, oak and brass, Victorian steam-punk style console room. This white, gleaming, room seemed even bigger and more impressive. “I like this one,” he said simply.

“Na,” he Doctor replied, leaning back and putting his hands behind his back and his feet on the wickerwork and glass coffee table, “too white and clean.” He crossed his ankles on the table and tipped his head back. “Love all the clocks though.”

“S'sh,” snapped the Other Doctor from the console. “We're not out of the woods yet. There's a question of your TARDIS to rescue,” he said, as he flitted about the console, keying in coordinates and adjusting programming. “Please let me be right,” he muttered to himself and the TARDIS. “Please work.” He crossed his fingers before hitting the dematerialisation switch.

“There she is!” whooped the other Doctor, obviously sensing something. “Good girl!”

Everyone looked at the scanner. It showed the swirling, chaotic Vortex, and traversing it, following them, was another blue Police box, slightly paler and brighter, and more than a little larger. But perhaps that was an optical illusion caused by the Vortex?

“We're all safe,” the taller Doctor said, seemingly deflating emotionally, sinking in the chair and trying to shrink down, taking his long legs off the coffee table and curling them underneath him. Yu sat on the arm and put his arms around him, to steady him. He looked across the room to the other Doctor and the console.

“Where to next, Doctor?” he asked.

Both Doctors looked at him.

“Oh, this is silly!” Benny exploded. “Doctor 1,” she said, pointing at her Doctor standing by the console, “and Doctor 2,” she added, pointing to the tall, skinny, one in the armchair.

The both scowled. “Actually, if you want to put it like that Bernice, I am Doctor 7, and you are...?”

“Ah. That's a bit awkward. Or hazy. Ten. Or eleven. Maybe twelve? Possibility none of them. Or all, or at least two numbers. Time – and my life – has been in flux in my universe for quite a while. There's a whole incarnation I can't remember.”

While the Other Doctor felt horror at this nonsensical answer, he instantly buried it and instead seized on the one thing he could grasp, and teased, “What is this then? End of life crisis? Is that what this gorgeous body is all about?”

“Do you find me gorgeous?” the older Doctor flirted back at himself.

“Oi! Enough! Gross!” Ace yelled. “You – Professor! You – Doctor! End of. Now, I'm going for a swim and then a bloody coffee. See ya!” And with that, she left the console room, slamming the inner door behind her.

Benny grinned at her Doctor. “You have to admit it works, Professor.”

“Fine,” her Doctor – the Professor – answered.

“Okay,” said Yu, grinning. “So, where next Professor? Ace said something about correcting time. It seems fine to me.”

The Professor smiled widely at the Chinese Commander. “First, my dear young man, we visit your mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay in posting, my health and circumstances are conspiring. Again I can't give a promise how long to the last chapter. Soon, I hope...


	19. Making Plans in the TARDIS, the Vortex, outside time and space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for another delay, and possibly more typos than usual. Health very poor, and stress levels high!

Yu hardly had time to look from the Doctor at the console to his own Doctor in utter confusion, let alone ask what the Other Doctor, or the Professor, had meant, when Ace returned; a tall, broad, greying and balding, white man in front of her, his arms twisted painfully up behind his back.

“I found this in the library, Professor!” Ace said menacingly, pushing the man violently to the floor, which he hit with a resounding smack, and pulling her small arms our from either side of her combat suit, aiming them both squarely at his head.

“Commander Roschenkov!” her Doctor cried in delight, while his future persona yelled, at the same time, far less joyfully,

“Anton!” as he leapt up from his chair and pushed himself behind Yu, who sensed something from the utter terror in his Doctor's eyes, and squared his shoulders and glared menacingly at Anton Roschenkov, balling his fists for good measure.

“So much testosterone,” Bernice muttered to herself, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

“He's here at my invitation,” Ace's Doctor went on, explaining to both Ace and his future self. “He is learning all he can about human-space in the twenty sixth century. He is relocating. What on Earth were you doing in the library, Ace?” he teased, knowing full well that over the last few months Ace had been devouring every Gallifreyan Academy textbook the TARDIS library possessed, but she was also very reticent to admit to her academic side, as it conflicted with the tough soldier she liked to present. Besides, a little teasing might put everyone at their ease. He suspected one didn't need to be a telepathic species to hear his possible future's transmitting of fear, disgust, and guilt.

“Nothin',” Ace replied, as the Doctor could have predicted. However, the Doctor had more problems from other quarters, as his distraction had failed spectacularly.

“What...? What... is... he doing here? With you!” the Doctor's alternate universe self was stumbling out, staring at Anton Roschenkov rather like a rabbit in a vehicle headlights, now also pointing a trembling finger at the still prone Russian ex-naval, ex-KGB, ex-UNIT, commander.

“He's here as my friend,” the Doctor replied succinctly, smacking his lips with emphasis, and grinning, the TARDIS telepathic circuits not translating for the humans in the console room all the depth, subtleties, context, and meanings, one could put on the one word in High Gallifreyan.

For the other Doctor, however, he heard every non word that was said. “Oh?” he replied slowly, raising one eyebrow and wrinkling his nose slightly in disgust.

The Doctor beside the console shrugged, as if to say, no matter, I don't need your permission. “Oh yes,” he said simply. He turned to Ace and Anton. “Get up please Commander. And Ace, put those armaments away. You know how I feel about them. Besides, when I last checked, the Temporal State of Grace was functioning perfectly well.”

“He didn't know that,” Ace said, and with a scowl, she holstered both her flescher and phaser from the twenty-sixth century. She looked over at Benny, who was leaning the other side of the console to the Doctor, arms folded.

Benny just gave a sympathetic shrug and mouthed, 'bingo' with a slight raise of the eyebrow.

Her Doctor noticed and decided that at least one companion picked up more Gallifreyan than he gave her credit for. But companions flourishing studies or judgements on his relationships were the least of his concerns. 

“But he... he... he...” the older Doctor was stuttering now, pushing Yu's protective hold away and hugging himself tightly, pulling his coat and jacket tightly about himself.

“I'm sorry,” Anton said, standing up and taking a step forward. “But you did enter into that contract, and I didn't know immediately who you were. And I was drunk. I know that excuses nothing, but it does explain at least. I did help you afterwards. I helped you several times over.”

“And very nearly died for you, Doctor, “ the Other Doctor added darkly. “There was no place for the commander after he helped you, all his covers blown. He had nowhere to go but China to betray his people, and there he could not have been true to himself any more than he could be in his homeland. He's been helping me sort through all my research notes I've made on the last few years, helping me pinpoint where Time has gone awry. As well as preparing for his future. How are you doing with that, Commander? Let's see, shall we. If I...” the Doctor tapped on the console and everyone spoke in a babble of languages as they asked what he had done. Gallifreyan, twentieth century British English, twenty-first century Chinese and Russian, and twenty sixth century human Standard all over lapped.

The Doctor held up his hand for silence, then pointed to Roschenkov and his mouth, then Benny, and his ears.

“Do you understand me?” Benny heard Anton say.

“Perfectly,” she replied, astonished.

“Good. I have learnt Standard and several of the most important colonies' dialects, as well as Draconian High and Standard and Military languages, as well as its low vernacular.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Eight weeks. I've also taught myself Dalek. It seemed prudent.”

Bernice let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Impressive.” She gave the Doctor a thumbs up, who immediately touched the console again.

“That was horrible,” the skinnier Doctor complained immediately the telepathic circuits were switched back on. “As if I hadn't had a horrendous time already, cut off from my own TARDIS telepathic circuits. Never do that again.”

“Like the bleeding Tower of Babel,” Ace added. That she'd understood skinny boy's rather colourful Gallifreyan, she didn't let on. But she was pleased her studies were paying off.

“Now!” her Doctor clapped his hands. “If no one is in a hurry for bathing or a little privacy, I suggest we all sit down for tea – or coffee,” he added with a nod to Ace, “and breakfast. I've had a few thoughts about what we can do about time being so far off track. In two universes,” he amended to the other Doctor's pointed glare. Ace glanced at the other Doctor, and then looked at her own and added,

“And how we can rescue Britain, if not America too, from total evil fascism and dictatorships, right Professor?” Ace demanded.

“Honestly Doctor!” Benny exclaimed, her look of annoyance including Ace. “We're had virtually no sleep. We're not all Time Lords. Yes, to tea and breakfast, but let's have a little break before we go charging in to save the universe again!”

“Two universes,” Ace added with a grin. “Bacon sandwiches and coffee sounds good, if you're taking orders.”

“Some of us,” the older, younger-looking, thinner, Doctor said wearily, “are Time Lords who need some rest too. Bacon sounds nice, though,” he smiled at his younger self as he staggered up to the console and leant onto the telepathic circuits heavily and closed his eyes.

Yu watched worriedly, hovering behind his Doctor in case he fell again, his eyes watching the Other, shorter Doctor, with burning curiosity, while Benny watched Yu watching one Doctor and protecting the other, thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, Ace threw herself down onto one of the armchairs and the Doctor headed for the interior door.

Yu's Doctor suddenly snapped his eyes open and began to skip about the console, as if he hadn't been about to faint.

“Oi!” he yelled to his past self. “Eggs would be nice. And I hope you have checked on my TARDIS since we left!” He switched the scanner back on and everyone watched the slightly paler, larger, version of a British 1950s Police Box traversing the Vortex on a parallel path to their own. “Molto bene! Alons-y! Brilliant to see the old girl is making it alone! Is she unharmed?”

“Seems to be fine to me,” Ace said, plonking her boots on the coffee table in front of her. “I checked I put the slaver in right, you know, and told her the plan. She's just fine Doctor. Now sit down, before you collapse again. I can see your legs shake through your indecently tight trousers.”

The Doctor looked down at his legs. “They're not indecent.”

“Well, they are by your planet's standards, they are. Time and place, Doctor,” she laughed, to show she was teasing.

“What do you want me to do, wrap up in a curtain?” he responded.

They both laughed, while the Other Doctor, leaning on the door with his arms folded, laughed too. Yu looked at Benny, who shrugged. Anton, who had been feeling like a fifth wheel, took the opportunity to cross the console room and sit opposite Ace.

“Food,” Ace prompted, nodding at Anton warily.

“And Yu can help,” Benny added. “Well,” she went on to Yu and her Doctor's curious glares, “ the poor man has been waiting so long to hear what you meant about his mother.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course,” the Doctor said with a smile. “Come along Mr Chan. You can do the toast and tea, while I fry the bacon and eggs.”

 

*

When they returned with a tray bearing a pile of eggs and bacon, a mound of toast, along with a dish of fried mushroom and one of tomatoes, and a tray bearing pots of tea, coffee, and a jug of milk and bowl of sugar lumps, they found Anton explaining to the Doctor how difficult and dangerous his life had grown everyday after he had got the Doctor on the train bound for Berlin. The Chinese had known, somehow, he had assisted the Doctor, and began to make threats on his life, and then somehow the KGB figured out he worked for UNIT and he was working for the Chinese.

“I would have no doubt have been killed within days if the other Doctor hadn't arrived,” he concluded, as he said Other Doctor put the tray down with a smile.

“Help yourself,” the Doctor said, as Yu put down the tea and coffee. “Bernice? Coffee?” he asked, solicitously, shaking Benny's shoulder.

“M'm? What? Sleepy. Leave me alone.”

“Come on, bed young lady.”

“Fine here,” she replied, curling up more in the easy chair.

Yu parked himself on the arm of the other soft chair and looked down at his Doctor. “Alright?”

“Uh-huh,” the Doctor murmured, his face paling considerably. “Sorry. It's the smell,” he said, suddenly rushing up and away from the food, his hand over his mouth.

Suddenly the Other Doctor was beside him, and producing a hospital cardboard kidney bowl from his jacket pocket. “There there, Doctor, I've got you,” he said, pulling him away from the others. “Don't worry Yu,” he called over his shoulder, “you eat.”

“Yeah,” Ace said. “Who knows when we next will, eh?” and with that, she began piling her plate with toast, bacon, and eggs.

Benny poured herself to coffee and curled back up, hands curling around the steaming coffee cup.

“I think, Commander Chan,” Anton said, passing him a plate, “this is what is known as a full English.”

“Nah, no sausages, or black pudding, or baked beans, or potatoes,” Ace helpfully supplied, mouth around a bacon sandwich.

“What is black pudding?” Anton asked curiously.

“Don't ask!” Benny replied with a shudder.

Yu looked away at the two Doctors. “Is the Doctor alright? My Doctor?” he asked, worried. “He was sick a week ago, in my cell, when I last saw him.”

“It's stuff he's been through, he'll be okay,” Ace said, to Yu's retreating back. He was heading towards the Doctors.

“I thought it would stop, now I'm safe,” he heard his Doctor say, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You know it's not so simple, Doctor,” the Professor said gently.

“I feel hungry but I can't, I feel so sick,” the Doctor moaned.

“Perhaps a banana?” Yu offered, trying to be helpful.

The Doctor turned green and retched again. “Never mention bananas to me again!” he snapped at Yu, dramatically, after he had finished.

“Okay, who are you, and want have you done with my Doctor?” Yu quipped, half heartedly. “Maybe a pear?”

“You know I can't abide pears. Abominations!” the Doctor shuddered.

“I'm not keen on pears either,” the Professor said cheerfully. “Come on, I'll take you to my bedroom. You can rest, and I'll find you a dry biscuit or two and some sweet tea in a while. Commander Chan, don't worry, please. The Doctor will explain to you when he's ready.”

His Doctor nodded weakly. “Yes. I promise,” he muttered, leaning into the shorter version of himself. They left the console room, ignoring Yu's stares.

“Why doesn't the Blinovitch Limitation Effect work?” he murmured to himself, distracting himself from his concern.

“What? Zap?” Ace said, from behind. “Nah, Time Lords are exempt! Rassilon imprimatur or something. “Come on, come get the food while it's hot. Otherwise me and Anton will eat all the bacon.”

“What is wrong?” Yu pushed.

“Well, your Doctor thinks it's mental, like physical symptoms of PTSD, post rape trauma. Might be infections too, the Doctor doesn't usually go through so much contact with humans, right? My Professor will sort him, promise. Come on, first stop your Mum, then we have work to do, remember?”

“I don't even know what's wrong!” Yu moaned, but followed Ace back the table.

 

*

 

An arbitrary time later, a time no doubt decided by the TARDIS, they materialised on New Chengdu on the outskirts of Pasha, a small town of mostly Chinese descended humans and middle-ranking Draconians in the mid twenty-sixth century. The TARDIS came to rest in space-time on a small hill, over-looking the settlement of small green and blue tiled pagodas and functional concrete blocks and hexagonal metal buildings of the early days. She materialised in front of a small copse of trees, her other universe sister materialised behind her and to the left, under the trees, a willow branch brushing her slightly taller and wider roof. They were watched by curious bovine eyes, who, after nothing happened with the two blue boxes, went back to their chewing of the cud and cropping of the sweet apple-grass. The pink tinged sky was lit suddenly behind the pagodas by the red of the rising, large sun and smaller white star behind it. Birds both indigenous and from Earth and Draconia erupted into song and the rising of the suns.

The humans and Time Lord in the TARDIS missed all this, as no one had switched on the scanner.

“I need to tweak his TARDIS, but you all go and enjoy yourselves,” the Professor said, pulling on the door control.

“You need my help Professor.”

“No Ace!”

“You do. What's he going to do? He's asleep!”

“No!” the Doctor repeated and followed the other humans out of the door.

“And this is where my mother is?” Yu was asking.

“Yes,” the Doctor replied, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Down there. Commander Roschenkov helped me get her moved in and settled. You'll take him there, Anton?”

“Yes. Need to check on my contacts. See if anything has come of your recommendations.”

“Good. And I'm sure Benny will enjoy the ride to New Beijing University. Ace can go too.”

“I'm staying put Professor.”

The Doctor sighed. “Very well. Off you go children. Have fun. Give me six hours and then we leave in the other TARDIS.”

“I suppose I can check out the University library, check for any putermail or personal messages or even letters, while I'm there. Since I'm almost home,” Benny mused, studiously ignoring being called a child.

“That's the spirit!”

“But... but my Doctor. He should come meet my mother.” Yu looked back, and saw his own Doctor leaning on the doorway, smiling across at his own TARDIS, still looking worn out and pale.

“What do you say Doctor?” the Other Doctor, the Professor, asked carefully.

Yu's Doctor put his hand behind his head and grimaced, “Ooh, I've had nasty experiences with mothers. I don't think-”

“He's quite himself or well enough. Plenty of time when we come back after we've sorted the mess out,” the Other Doctor finished for him.

“You think it's going to be easy as that?” snapped the Doctor to his former self.

The Professor gave his possible future self an annoyed glare. “Clock's ticking. Off you go Commander Chan. You might have a surprise.”

Anton started off down the hill, obviously knowing where he was going. Yu looked back at his Doctor with a bewildered, hurt, look, and then followed. Benny raised a hand in salute and an eyebrow at Ace, then turned and followed the men down the grassy slope.

 

*

 

Once they were out of earshot, the Doctor, or the Professor as he had agreed to be for the duration of having this frail, wraith like, vulnerable, alternate version of him with them, turned to the Doctor, and also to Ace, with a nod in her direction, “It isn't that easy at all. If Ace is right, we have a Time Lord to find and stop. Which is why I thought your TARDIS, with it's pan dimensional signature, powered by string and good wishes, it seems to me, but certainly not the Eye of Harmony, might slip us back in the growing pocket dimension unnoticed by him. But I want to do some extra tweaking, just to make sure we are cloaked. If Ace is right, he'll be watching for me and for CIA, equally.”

“It won't be easy. It's sitting between the two dimensions, there's no telling which universe was interfered with to create the distorted time line, but if we don't stop it, it will cause a temporal embolism in both universes,” the Doctor said. 

“I know.”

“But then there is a terrible possibility, if it started in my universe...”

“That is was meant to be, that your catastrophe means time can be rewritten. I know. But it shouldn't spiral out to my universe, should it?”

“I don't know! I hope not!”

“Hope not indeed!”

“Well, you're Time's Champion, this is your forte. I'm not sure what we can do. I tend to rush around bigging myself up until I come up with a plan on the hoof. You plan, you're the only one of us that does. Mostly.”

“I have some thoughts, Doctor. So does Ace.”

Ace grinned wickedly at both Doctors.

 

*

 

The street looked up at the slope and the copse and the field of cows. A street of small bungalows and houses, looking like a mixture of Chinese, Japanese, British Indian Raj, and some futurist and alien design. Anton stopped at a single story property with a wide gate and raised flower beds and pots of herbs and a small willow tree, from which hung wind chimes and red flags. The path was wide and flat, and both gate and front door also wider than the average door, with lower handles and latches. Anton tugged at a low tech bell on a red rope and turned to Yu with a smile, and said,

“Stand behind me then.”

When the door opened, Mai saw Anton and a woman with short hair in green slacks and a beige safari jacket with a canvas bag slung over a shoulder.

“Hello Mai,” Anton said.

“Anton? Is the Doctor back?”

At the sound of her voice, Yu stepped out from behind the tall Russian man and smiled. His smile froze in astonishment and joy.

“Mama!” he stumbled out in confused joy as his mother made the steps quickly to hug her son, to hold him tightly to her, her arms trembling, tears falling like rain.

“Yu. My boy. My precious Yu.”

“You can walk!” he finally managed to say.

“Yes. I still need sticks and these braces,” she tapped one of the plastic and material scaffolding that held up her legs outside her pink silk trousers, “but with exercises that will go. It's only my muscles are so weak. I have physio-therapy every day by a lovely female Dragon.”

“Dragon?”

“Oh, I know that is supposed to be a racist term, but I tell her, where I come from, Dragons are powerful spirits full of good luck.”

“I think she means a Draconian,” Benny offered helpfully, swallowing back her shock at such a casual use of the offensive, racist, word.

“But how... I mean... How?!”

“They grew me a new spine,” Mai said, smiling. “Are you here to stay? Is your Doctor here? Come in, son. Will you both come in too, please?”

“We have things to do at the University, so need to catch a shuttle transport. We'll be back in a few hours, and will be honoured to take tea then,” Anton said politely. “This time is for you and your son, Mai. Come on Professor Summerfield, the shuttles run on the hour.”

 

* 

 

Eight hours later everyone was not only back, but in the other TARDIS, everyone from 'the Professor's' TARDIS packed and allocated rooms. They were assembled around the raised console and 'the Professor'. Anton stood back, his arms folded, and Benny stood near him, watching everyone's interactions and body language, wondering how they would all gel. She knew Ace was hoping Anton was not a permanent addition, and she was inclined to agree. There had been a slight contra-tempts, that although they had seemed to make their peace, 'the Doctor', that was the older Doctor who looked younger, was still uncertain. Only the Professor's curt affirmation that his research and plans needed a Russian ex-KGB agent settled the matter, with Ace as well as the Doctor. Hopefully he knew what they were doing. Benny reminded herself she had promised to trust more, both the Doctor – or rather the Professor – and Ace. She didn't really know about the other Doctor, she knew from that week undercover as his shrink, he really wasn't doing very well, he had PTSD that predated the multiple rapes in Europe by centuries, she suspected.

“I’ve been tracking various TARDIS time trails,” the Professor said, tapping at the console of the other Doctor’s TARDIS.

Everyone immediately crowded around, climbing up the steps. The coral ceiling and beams and struts, along with the pinkish lighting, had blown Ace away the first time she had come in, back at the base, and now she didn’t know whether she liked it or hated it. She knew, in theory, the room configurations could be reset, she had done so herself when she had taken the other alternative Doctor's, the dead one from his third persona's, TARDIS, from that other universe, but this was like a completely different ship. When they had lost the TARDIS and had to take the one belonging to the pocket dimension’s dead Doctor, she had been too focused, immediately, on saving herself and the other Manesha, and then, when they were safe, when they had left all those people – all those alternative people – fifty years to live on their dying universe, she had been so angry. It had taken days for her to notice the larger roundels, the greenish lighting, the analogue tiny scanner on the wall in a corner of the console room’s hexagonal shape, matching the console. Then she had reset it back to her home. If she squinted, she could see that this TARDIS console was still a hexagon. Just.

Right now, she wanted this universe to be given fifty years to wind down and her own restarted with out the toe-rag fascists in her own country and America damaging and ruining everything. She hated the fact that both Doctors seemed worried that it might be meant to be, despite the fact that both swore that Britain had been a leading ‘nation’ and finance centre for centuries ahead, even when the very concept of nation state or national or supranational governments had become meaningless.

Benny leaned over her shoulder, and the Doctor, the skinny one, who sat on a grungy yellow chair aimed at the console. Yu stood beside him, peering. She wondered what he was thinking, as he had been assured by his mother that she was safe and happy in her new home, but nothing else had been explained but her medical treatment and the Professor paying for it all. Typical of the ‘Professor’, as Benny needed to get used to thinking of the Doctor, now they were going to work together.

“Here,” pointed the ‘Professor’ at the screen, at a pale blue spot following a paler blue trail, the screen was displaying what looked like a 3D version of a wiring diagram or Tube map, a bit like the Transit system public holograms, but less messy and tangled. “Here is your TARDIS arriving,” he continued, nodded behind himself at the other Doctor. “It’s moved physically from Paris to Brussels and then a day after it arrives there it leaves Brussels for Moscow and winks out some five days later in Russia, presumably both shielded and triggering her HADS. And then here, about a month later, she pops up in Sichuan, presumably when you opened her door.”

The Doctor nodded, smiling. “Yeah. No doubt,” he said.

The Professor nodded back, and continued, “Here is a TARDIS arriving four and a half months ago in Berlin. It hops about over the course of a week – Singapore, Canada, New Zealand, India, Zimbabwe, and then back to Berlin, remaining three more months.”

“The Master. The younger one,” the Doctor muttered.

The Professor looked startled for a moment, and the Doctor looked intently at him. “Yes,” he said. “Of course.” The Master’s TARDIS colour code was changed to black. The Professor tapped the screen. “And here, seven months ago, a TARDIS arrives in Poland, two days later, a short hop of about two miles, then it remains for six months then leaves.”

“The Rani,” breathed the Doctor.

The Professor colour coded the Rani’s TARDIS pink. “And here,” the Professor hit the screen again, “is us – with young Victoria and dear Jamie – arriving and leaving Australia over a course of a week a couple of weeks ago.” This one he had colour coded a deeper blue.

“Jamie,” the Doctor breathed. The Professor looked sadly at him, while Yu squeezed his arm and Ace smiled tightly. Benny just looked confused. Anton didn't even register the change in atmosphere 

“And here is my own TARDIS, Britain, October 2022, and here, I hop from location to location about the planet, stretching from December 2020 to November 2023.” The Professor’s time trail, in navy blue, looked like a web made by a very drunken spider.

“So. All accounted for? Agreed?”

The Doctor nodded. Ace muttered, “Yeah,” while both Yu and Benny looked confused and glared at their Doctors for confirmation if not explanation.

“So, if delete the time trails and – Voila!” the Professor stood back and indicated the screen with a flourished flip of his hand

Benny peered at the screen, struggling to follow, but finally getting what this was for. “Is that... is that one TARDIS remaining?”

“Yes, this one is not accounted for. Arrived in London in 1987 and has hardly moved since. It makes a few hops over to Moscow, a few times a year, from 2015 to 2020, and a couple to the USA over 2016, but other that than, moves physically rather than temporally and spatially a few times, from west London, to north, the the city, then west London. As if the owner was merely moving home or office like a human and presumably the TARDIS, with a fully functioning chameleon circuit, is disguised as a piece of furniture. Interesting, isn’t it?” the Professor asked.

“Mortimus!” yelled Ace. “Frog faced toad!”

“Yes,” agreed the Professor, drawing out and lengthening the yes. “Mortimus. Up to his old time meddling tricks.”

“Wait! Wait a minute! Just a little minute!” the Doctor shouted, leaping up from his seat and clutching the back of his neck. “The Monk? The Meddling Monk? He’s behind all this?” he asked, calming down a bit as Yu pulled him back into his seat.

The Professor nodded while Ace replied, “This isn’t the first time he’d played with Earth’s 20th and 21st century histories like a bloody toy. We've had previous in our timeline, Doctor.”

“My research and my old job tell me what he was up to in Russia in the twenty-teens,” Anton added. “We can easily counter-act that if nothing else.”

Ace nodded at him, trusting the Doctor's choice in the man at last, “Good,” she said.

Yu had remained silent up to this point, he had no idea what they had been talking about, what had changed. But then, he thought China was probably always stable and always cut off from the rest of the world, or at least, cut her citizens off, so what would he know? Now he asked, “But what can he hope to achieve?”

“Who knows?” said the Professor.

“Kicks,” Ace answered darkly.

“Like a child pointing a stick into an ants nest and watching them run in panic and confusion,” added Bernice.

“And here he is, not an incarnation we’ve encountered before,” the Professor said dramatically, and with another flourished flick of the wrist, swiped the screen to removed the TARDIS trail to reveal the picture of a middle aged white man with a smug, self satisfied grin, slightly boggling eyes, and the bone structure that, as Ace repeatedly pointed out, reminded one in a subtle way, of a frog.

“Yep” said Ace, wincing slightly. “Frog face.” 

“I've seen him. In 2016. When I was KGB assigned as the President's translator. In secret conferences. To set up troll factories outside St. Petersburg and Moscow both,” Anton supplied sadly, rather embarrassed by his old job, or perhaps by his president.

Yu glanced at Anton, confused. “But that’s...” he began. Everyone turned to look at him, the other local, relatively and spatially speaking. “But it can’t be. Can it? I mean...” Yu ran his hand over his razored hair. “I’m Chinese, and we don’t know much about other countries, but I do know something about Western politics. And that’s Nigel Farage. Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” confirmed the Professor. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prizes for the big reveal, which I feel will have come as no surprise to anyone at all, really. Saw on the news today that that Meddling Farage is sticking his oar in over in Australia now!
> 
> The Trilogy will return next year (health and wealth permitting) with what is tentatively titled 'Getting Rid Of Nigel'. If anyone can come up with a much better title, I will write you a short piece on your favourite companion or incarnation of the Doctor as a thank you.
> 
> 5 time zones, 4 companions, 3 nations, 2 Doctors, 1 Monk with 2 identities... will the team be able to stop the Monk in his tracks and cease his meddling and get time back on track in two universes, or will the temporal embolism his meddling caused just spread back out either side of the void and utterly destroy two separate universes. Or does Ace hold the key?

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike with Journey Through Europa I am more likely to be posting closer to weekly rather than daily. I hope you enjoy this. Comments appreciated.


End file.
